


What Lies Behind the Throne

by blustersquall



Series: What Lies Behind the Throne [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 250,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blustersquall/pseuds/blustersquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe. Prince Alistair is the son of King Maric Theirin, second in line to the throne of Ferelden after his older brother Cailan, and he suffers from an arranged marriage. His intended? The only daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, Roselyn. A girl he last saw when they were children and who arrives in Denerim for their impending nuptials as eager for it as he is.</p><p>Helped by Alistair’s sister-in-law, Anora the two find opportunities to get to know one another and to bond. Over time, they warm up both to the idea of marriage and to each other and develop into a formidable team in the hopes of making Ferelden better under the rule of King Maric and the future rule of Cailan.</p><p>Rating to change in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Prince Alistair is the son of King Maric Theirin, second in line to the throne of Ferelden after his older brother Cailan, and he suffers from an arranged marriage. His intended? The only daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, Roselyn. A girl he last saw when they were children and who arrives in Denerim for their impending nuptials as eager for it as he is.
> 
> Helped by Alistair’s sister-in-law, Anora the two find opportunities to get to know one another and to bond. Over time, they warm up both to the idea of marriage and to each other and develop into a formidable team in the hopes of making Ferelden better under the rule of King Maric and the future rule of Cailan.
> 
> Life does not remain peaceful for long however, as unrest simmers under the surface of the Ferelden people  
> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [on tumblr] <3  
> \- Rating is for later chapters.

_Month: Guardian. Three months to the wedding._

_\---_

"Now what?"

"Just changing over the horses, My Lady. Not long then straight on to Denerim."

"Thank the Maker," Eleanor leaned back in her seat in the carriage, smoothing her hands across the skirt of her dress. The carriage was stuffy and uncomfortable, but it was seen as improper for ladies to ride on horseback for any length of time. Especially when travelling for a distance. "Did you hear that, darling?" She turned to the only other occupant of the carriage.

"Yes, Mother," Roselyn said, her eyes fixed out of the window at the countryside.

"Almost at Denerim," Eleanor was almost breathless in her own excitement, adjusting her gloves on her slender fingers. "Won't that be lovely?"

Roselyn managed not to snort. "I can barely contain my excitement," Eleanor's eyes narrowed slightly but Roselyn missed the glimmer of disapproval in her mother's gaze. Shuffling across the plush seats she reached for the door.

"What are you doing?" inquired her mother, her voice rising a notch.

"Going to stretch my legs."

"I'll go with you."

"Thank you, but no." One of the grooms caught the carriage door and held it open for her offering a hand so as support as she climbed out. "I would prefer to walk on my own for a few minutes." Stepping out of the carriage, the sole of her boot crunched  the earth while she steadied herself. As the groom shut the door, Eleanor popped her head out of the window, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Don't wander too far, darling."

"I won't." Roselyn rolled her eyes, straightening her back.

"Take your father with you."

Clenching her hands at her sides, Roselyn squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, calming herself. She turned to look at her mother's concerned face and graced her with a smile. "If he can be spared."

Eleanor smiled and disappeared back into the gloom of the carriage. Roselyn walked to where the horses were being swapped out. The ones they started with would have been back at Highever by now; beautiful destriders she had grown up with and ridden daily. She felt a sense of melancholy knowing she would not ride or see them again.

They had been on the road for nearly a week. This was the last change over of horses before they would reach their destination of Denerim. The four animals being harnessed to the carriage had been sent from the Denerim royal stable by the King. Each one was beautiful, with glossy coats and manes, skittering and eager to get going.

Every courtesy was being extended to Roselyn and her family by King Maric as they travelled the stretching road from Highever. Her mother could barely contain her excitement as years of planning were close to coming to fruition. Each mile could not pass fast enough for her.

Roselyn felt the exact opposite.

She was leaving her family to marry someone she had been betrothed to at age six. She left her brother, her nephew, and the friends she had grown up with. Denerim palace was to be her new home and the King's youngest son was to be her husband.

Prince Alistair...

She could not remember his face or his voice. They had not met again since the day the _"arrangement"_   had been made, when King Maric had come to Highever on a tour with his household and his two young sons. Her parents remembered the day fondly, filling it with pomp, ceremony, and flourishes of how the two princes had tripped over themselves to spend time with Roselyn and that Alistair had given her flowers to win her over. Roselyn didn't remember any of it. If the visit _had_ been as grand and spectacular as her parents made out to be, it left little impression on her, and the princes less still.

All she knew of the princes were the rumours she heard from merchants who had travelled the Kingsroad toward Highever to sell their wares and restock.

Cailan was the oldest set to inherit the throne when Maric died. At twenty-six, he was reported to be fair of face and tall, broad across the chest. He wore his hair long, a style preferred by his father in his younger days.

He was married at twenty-one to Anora Mac Tir, the daughter of Maric's military general and close friend, Loghain. Despite five years of marriage they had yet to produce a child to carry on the royal line. The blame naturally fell to Anora, despite the hushed gossip that Cailan was a known philanderer; a commonality he rumoredly shared with the King.

As the oldest Prince and potential future ruler of Ferelden, Cailan's duties were to provide protection to those in need of it, such as those living in the slums and the Alienage of Denerim, and learn the art of ruling from his father. He was expected to take an interest in the welfare of the people he would one day rule and learn the business of government, as well as military movements and combat.

Yet for all his tutors, all Roselyn ever heard of Cailan was that he enjoyed hunting, hawking, and whoring rather than learning the task of ruling a country.

She heard considerably less about Prince Alistair. Aside from being told he accompanied Maric and Cailan on tours each year, tours for which Roselyn was always conveniently absent at her parents behest, she knew little of him. Not even how he wore his hair. Her intended husband was little more than a mystery, and she did not like leaving all she had known to marry a mystery.

Roselyn jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Something wrong, pup?"

Her father, Bryce, smiled down at her; kind eyes, kind face, concerned, and yet somehow able to put her at ease.

"I was going to stretch my legs," she told him. "Mother wanted you to walk with me. To make sure I don't try to make a run for it, I'm certain."

Bryce laughed heartily at that, taking her small, gloved hand and sliding it into the crook of his elbow. Roo, Roselyn's mabari hound, who had been running alongside the carriage since Crestwood, came to heel and started walking with them.

"What's on your mind?" Bryce asked once they had walked far enough away from the carriage and the grooms to not be over heard.

Roselyn squeezed her fingers into the material of her father's travelling coat while dropping her shoulders in an effort to make herself appear more relaxed. "Why should anything be on my mind?" she asked, evasively.

"Come now, pup," Bryce glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "I am not your mother. I know when there's something amiss with you." He patted the top of her hand. "What's wrong?"

Debating for a few moments whether or not to unburden herself to her father, Roselyn came to a stop. She swept her fingers through the loose rings of her hair which tumbled down her back and dropped to pick up a stick on the ground which she threw for Roo. The dog chased it, kicking up a cloud of dirt and stones in her wake.

"Must I marry the Prince?" she asked her father, trying hard to keep the tone of whining out of her voice.

"Ah." Bryce tucked one hand behind his back. He retrieved the stick when Roo returned it and tossed it again. Roselyn got to her feet and began to walk once more in tandem with her father. "He's very nice."

"Father..."

"It's a very advantageous match for our family," Bryce explained. "Any children you have will be candidates for the throne of Ferelden."

"After Cailan and Anora's children."

Bryce clucked, "If they have any."

Arching a brow, Roselyn nudged her father, "That's treason, you know."

"Will you turn me in?" he teased, smiling. Roselyn held his arm again, watching Roo's body disappear into the golden fields of wheat around them. She could track the dog only by the birds that flew from the grasses, disturbed by the boisterous hound.

"I have... reservations. I know nothing about him. I've only received a handful of letters from him in the thirteen years since everything was arranged. Fergus didn't have an arranged marriage, why must I?" Roselyn thought back to her brother who would be taking care of Highever in the absence of its Teyrn, their father. She thought of his pretty Antivan wife, Oriana, heavily pregnant with their second child. She thought of her nephew Oren and how someone else would take over his riding lessons now she was no longer there to show and guide him.

"Fergus..." Bryce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fergus _did_ have a match. He made his own choice without the approval of your mother or myself."

"And yet it worked out well," said Roselyn. "Oriana comes from a good, noble family in Antiva and there was no civil war. Why can't I have the same treatment? Why must I be subjected to this archaic procedure and not be allowed to find my own husband?"

"It's different for daughters."

Growing frustrated, Roselyn furrowed her brows. "Why? It shouldn't be. I should be allowed to make my own choice!"

"Roselyn..." He tried to pat her hand but she pulled it away. "The Prince is kind and, from everything Maric has written me of him, the two of you will make a fine match. You will be the sister-in-law to the King of Ferelden and aunt the future Kings of Ferelden. You will have more power and influence than our family has ever had. You will be happy."

"Will I?" Roselyn bit out. "Can you swear to me I will be happy? Because Anora is married to a Prince of Ferelden too, and all I hear of her is how miserable she is and how Prince Cailan mistreats her. Favoring the company of whores over his own wife. Who is to say his brother is not cut from the same cloth?"

Bryce closed his mouth looking down at her, his expression drawn into a frown. She stared back, challenging him to tell her she that would indeed be blissfully happy. To promise it to her that the prince would make her the happiest woman in Thedas as Calian was supposed to have made Anora. For several seconds neither of them spoke and Bryce quickly looked away from her, turning his attention to the carriage.

He noted the final horse was being harnessed and Roselyn saw him relax.

"The horses are nearly ready," he told her, offering his hand. "We must get back."

"Yes," Roselyn replied with a tone like ice, "I suppose we must." She turned in a flourish of her skirts and marched back towards the carriage. Climbing in, she slumped in her seat, trying hard to fight off her anger and the sting of tears.

 

* * *

 

Alistair paced across his brothers chamber from one wall to the other and back again. He was walking the same path for what must have been hours, unable to quell his nerves. On any normal day, he would have left the palace and gone for a ride. Or done some sword work. Or work with a pole arm. Something to distract him.

But this was not any other day. His father had forbidden both him and his brother to leave the palace lest they be late for meeting their guests. Cailan took this imposed house arrest as he did everything - as an opportunity to languish in luxury, drink, eat, and flirt with the different courtiers who had come to petition their father.

Alistair envied him. Cailan was so calm and collected. He took everything in his stride and nothing phased him. He could recall Cailan's attitude to Anora before their wedding: cool, controlled, charming, and familiar. He should have expected nothing less considering they had grown up together.

Cailan was everything Alistair was not.

Cailan had most people at court wrapped around his finger, and those that were not Cailan could delight with a handful of pretty phrases and witty comments which turned them to putty. Alistair envied his brother and the ease with which he sailed through life. He was the prince their father wanted, the prince their country deserved. Alistair was grateful for being the second son, especially when he thought of what would happen if his father and Cailan ever perished, leaving him to rule. He was a bumbling fool, as Maric told him often, and would run Ferelden into the ground. Still, he wished his brother would be more supportive than he was being now.

"Did you see the Pirate Queen in court today?" asked Cailan, smiling over his goblet in an unnerving and wolfish way. He licked his top lip. "She can hoist my sails any day."

"Do you even know what that means?" snapped Alistair, ruffling his hands through his hair. "You've never even been near a ship!"

Cailan laughed, the same laugh their father had. "So what?" He took a long swallow from his cup. "It's an expression, brother. I think she'd at least appreciate the attempt at pirate talk."

Alistair arched a brow, folding his arms. "She would eat you alive, Cailan," he stated, watching his brother pluck a grape from the bunch and turned it over between his thumb and forefinger. "You know she would."

"That's half the fun," Cailan grinned, popping the grape into his mouth.

Sighing, Alistair resumed his pacing. He would get no help or words of confidence from his older brother. He was foolish to expect them, but he was grateful that their talk had not divulged into every reason Cailan was amazing and every reason Alistair was not, as they often did. Their father took most every opportunity to point out his faults, he did not need his brother to do the same. Especially not today of all days.

"Stop pacing," barked Cailan. "You'll wear a hole in the rug."

Coming to a stop in front of a mirror, Alistair rubbed his hands across and down his face, groaning into his palms. He should have been excited. He was meeting, for the first time since he was eight, the woman he was going to marry. They had been betrothed by their parents and aside from a handful of approved letters, had not spoken or met again since that day.

Everything in his mind told him he was over thinking and worrying for nothing. He was a prince after all and, aside from his brother, one of the most sought after men in Ferelden. Yet he felt nothing but a sense of dread since waking this morning. He had been unable to eat; his stomach twisted and clenched so violently that even a tiny morsel of food had made him want to be sick. Cailan tried to get him to drink wine or ale in the hopes it would give him some courage, but both drinks had only made the tempest in his gut worse.

Being trapped in the palace did not help. Everywhere he turned there were signs of the impending arrival of the Cousland family and his bride-to-be. In every room the servants paused when he walked through, giggling and whispering to each other. The whole palace had been cleaned until every candle stick shone and Maric had ordered decorations to be hanged in the colours of the Cousland house, dark navy and silver, in welcome. Some of the best horses from the stables had been sent out to wait along the road to make the journey swifter for them.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Alistair asked, peering at his face in the looking glass.

He was not an unattractive man by any means. His hair was cut short and dark blond where both his brother and father preferred longer styles and their hair was the same light blond shade. Many told him his eyes were his best feature, almond shaped and a warm honey-brown colour. He disagreed and believed it was his nose. Long, straight, the Theirin nose shared between himself, Cailan, and King Maric. Alistair rubbed the faint scruff on his chin. "Do you think I should shave? What if she doesn't like beards?"

Cailan draped an arm around Alistair's shoulders, sharing the mirror with him and grinning like a fool. "Brother, what is there about you that she could not like? You are a prince. You are handsome and you live in the best city, the best palace in Ferelden." Alistair struggled a little under Cailan's weight as he hung off him.

"That might not matter to her..."

"What else should matter?" chuckled Cailan. He examined his reflection in the glass. Alistair saw the similarities in their appearance. Both of them had high, noble brows and square chins. Alistair's face was softer, not so weathered by frivolity and drink. Their eyes were the same shape, Cailan's a little smaller and a darker colour. And where Alistair preferred to have something of a beard, Cailan did not, keeping his facial hair trimmed down to stubble. There was so little about them that was different, their father's blood ran strong in them both. There was no doubting they were the sons of Maric Theirin.

"You don't need a shave." Cailan clutched Alistair's chin and squeezed, puckering his lips for him. "You need to relax. Stop fussing."

Alistair shook his head and pushed his brother, laughing. "Easy for you to say," he remarked, massaging his jaw. "You're already married. And you'd known Anora since childhood when you did marry." He smoothed his hands over his hair. Cailan released him, the mention of his wife souring his mood. "I'm meeting this girl for the first time today, really. A short visit when we were children doesn’t count for much."

"Seems strange that father never let you meet her before now." Cailan shrugged refilling his silver cup with wine. "What's her name again?"

"Roselyn."

"Roselyn..." Cailan repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue slowly. "Sounds stuck up."

Alistair stared at him in silence for a beat, then chuckled through his nose. "You get that just from a name?"

His brother shrugged. "Names are telling," he replied. "If it was just Rose, then that would be better. But Roselyn screams of haughtiness and being shrewish." He prodded Alistair’s upper arm with his forefinger hard. “Mind yourself with her.”

"Because you're so knowledgeable with women." Alistair sighed feeling a need to defend his future bride from his brother's words. "Your track record is astounding after all. Five years married and no children."

His slight touched a nerve, for he saw Cailan's demeanour change instantly. His jaw tightened and his brows dropped, while his shoulders tensed. Glaring at Alistair, he swallowed from his cup and dropped it to the table, letting it clatter to the flagstone floor.

"Sorry, Cailan. That was--"

"At least I've _been_ with a woman, little brother," sneered Cailan, his tone losing its playfulness and becoming malicious. "It's no fault of mine that my wife is as barren as a Blighted field. Perhaps you should spend more time worrying about your performance on your wedding night and your mysterious bride-to-be than my marriage." He gave Alistair's cheek a condescending pat and smiled unpleasantly. "Hm?"

Alistair waited for the door to slam closed before he breathed again. He forgot sometimes how changeable Cailan could be. Laughing and joking one minute, then dangerously unkind the next. He had always been that way and Alistair had paid for his brothers mood swings more times than he cared to count. The air in Cailan's room grew stifling, the scent of his wine lingering in the air. Or perhaps that was just the venom Alistair had heard in his brother's departing words.

He left, not quite sure of where he was going. His own room would have made sense, but he had no desire to spend time alone. If he did, he would spend time thinking and dreading the impending meeting of this woman and what would go wrong. Because something would go wrong. It always did.

Luck and company found him in the form of his uncle, Teagan. The youngest brother of the late Queen Rowan, he was the only member of the royal family who did not see Alistair either as a glorified fool or a pawn to be moved across a chess board. One of the few people Alistair trusted and could feel at ease with.

"Your Highness," Teagan caught himself from tripping and Alistair stopped in his steps.

"I'm sorry, Teagan," he spoke, "I was miles away."

"Quite alright, Your Highness." Teagan smiled his easy smile, "His Majesty sent me. Bryce Cousland has arrived with his entourage. You're to go and meet them outside with the King and your brother."

Alistair felt his body go cold. A chill rose up his spine and his limbs seemed to grow  solid. He stood dumb for a few seconds, aware of Teagan's mouth moving and words being formed, but unable to hear them over the blood thudding in his ears and the screaming terror he just managed to conceal. He had not thought they would arrive so soon. He wondered if they had galloped the horses the whole way. Poor horses.

"Your Highness?" Teagan's face was drawn into concern and through his own fear, Alistair was barely able to hear him. "Your Highness, are you quite well?"

"Ye--" Alistair cleared his throat of its tightness. "Yes." He rubbed his hands on his breeches, they had started to sweat under the weight of his worry. "I'm fine, Teagan."

"Are you certain? All the colour drained from your face."

"I'm fine." He repeated, forcing a smile. "I'm..."

Teagan patted his shoulder in both a friendly and comforting gesture. "You have no reason to be worried, Your Highness. The Lady Roselyn is a very lovely young lady." They began to walk along the hall at a pace that was deliberately slow.

"You've met her?"

"Several times," explained Teagan. "Her father, Bryce has dealings with the Bannorn and Redcliffe. I've stayed at Highever Castle before. She's charming."

Alistair tried not to sound too interested and eager. "Oh?"

"She's well-read, clever, educated. Graceful, quick-witted..."

"Is..." he hesitated. "Is she pretty?"

They paused in the hallway. Teagan grinned, and patted Alistair's shoulder. They stood at the top of the main staircase which led to the entrance hall and the door outside where Maric ordered them to congregate when they arrived.

"You'll see for yourself, soon enough, Your Highness," Teagan told him.

Concealing his pout, Alistair jogged down the stairs and outside, Teagan following close behind. An evening breeze had whipped up and made it chilly, but there was still sunlight as it disappeared behind the trees. It made for a lovely evening, if nothing else.

Already outside was Cailan, Maric, and Anora. Cailan and Maric were talking, jostling, and joking, barking with laughter at one thing or another, while Anora stood stoic and away from them.

"Good evening, Anora," Alistair greeted her with a polite smile. She nodded, dropping her eyes for a moment before standing straight once more, not a single blonde hair out of place.

Alistair stood beside his father, opposite to Cailan and Teagan to Alistair's left. Noticing the arrival of both Alistair and Teagan, Maric straightened himself and smoothed down his surcoat.

"Excited?" he asked, Alistair, a familiar glint of amusement in his eye. A glint that always put Alistair on edge. It was a look that had become synonymous with a joke being played on him.

"No-- yes. Yes. I mean, yes," answered Alistair, fighting the rising fear in his stomach and the butterflies that felt more like a herd of horses trampling through his body.

His father was an overbearing, giant of a man. Imposing and loud, he was not cruel by any means, but he was not a warm or loving father. He never was, either to Cailan or Alistair. He took interest in them both now they were adults, and Cailan was his favourite, being the eldest and the next in line for the throne. But he never treated them as beloved sons; more as acquaintances when they had been children and now more as friends. He had spoiled them, but not loved them. As Alistair saw it, there were worse ways to grow up.

"Stand up straight," Maric told him, and Alistair obeyed like a dog being brought to heel. "You want to make a good impression on the girl. First impressions matter more than anything, my boy."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Alistair swallowed, trying to dampen his throat as he heard the sound of hoof beats approaching the palace gates. The air felt heavy and when the carriage came into view, laden with trunks and grooms with a mabari running alongside. He felt like he might faint.

The horses were steaming and lathered. Servants ran from their places around the royal family to help with the animals and with unpacking while greetings and introductions were made.

Bryce Cousland had travelled with a small guard of about fifteen men all on horseback, also with a driver, footman, and two grooms who had been clinging to the carriage as it had pulled into the wide courtyard. The mabari sat waiting patiently by the carriage doors for someone to open them. Servants wrestled with the horses, and Alistair knew Teyrn Cousland from the house sigil on his travel coat.

While not a young man, he swung out of the saddle with ease and landed safely on the ground, handing the reins to a waiting elf. Maric approached, arms wide open in greeting.

"Bryce," boomed Maric.

Bryce dropped into a low, gracious bow. "Your Majesty."

Alistair watched as Maric embraced him, grinning at the familiarity of an old friend. He peered beyond them to the carriage, waiting for the doors to open, almost bouncing with anticipation.

"How was the journey?" asked Maric conversationally.

"Very fine, Your Majesty. The horses you provided made it pass much faster."

"I expected no less. Sent along the fastest horses in my livery," Maric's tone dropped to a conspiratorial tone, "eager to get my future daughter-in-law here."

Bryce laughed and guided the way to the carriage. "Allow me." He ushered the footman away from the door, content to open it himself.

The first woman to appear was clearly his wife. Her hair was grey but her face was bright and intelligent, eyes like a hawk scanning the faces of each person as they bustled around going about their tasks and chores, gauging them. Bryce took her hand to help her down the carriage steps and then Maric took it to kiss.

"Eleanor," he smiled at her while Eleanor Cousland dropped into a curtsey. "You're looking lovely as ever."

She laughed, "Your Majesty is as always the flatterer." She rose gracefully to stand, reminding Alistair of a swan with the movement of her body, so fluid and collected.

"You and I will have much catching up to do," Maric told Eleanor, leading her towards Cailan. "My son, Prince Cailan." Eleanor curtsied, Cailan took her hand to kiss it and made a short bow.

"My Lady Cousland," Cailan smiled up at her, eyes glittering. "If your daughter is as beautiful as her mother, my brother is a lucky man indeed."

Alistair suppressed his desire to gag. Typical Cailan, laying it on thick to get everyone on his side straight away. Cailan caught his eye while Maric introduced Eleanor to Anora. He offered his most sardonic grin, poorly disguised as one of support and completely ignored by Maric and Eleanor as the King brought her to Alistair.

"And this is Prince Alistair, your future son-in-law."

Well rehearsed in this duties, Alistair took her hand as she offered it and briefly touched his lips to the fabric of her glove which concealed her skin. "Lady Cousland," he straightened. "I'm very excited to meet your daughter." _And terrified._ He wanted to add.

"She's very excited to meet you too." Eleanor told him. "I can't believe you're the same young man. Last I laid eyes on you, there was mud all down your jerkin and you had the most apologetic look in your eyes while handing me a poesy of wildflowers." She smiled fondly, a faraway look gleaming over her eyes. "Now look at you, all grown up." She nudged Maric with a playful fondness, "they're the spitting image of you, Your Majesty."

"Strong family blood," Maric explained with a rueful sigh, as if it was a regrettable fact when it was something Maric was most proud of. That his two sons took more after him. He led Eleanor back to Cailan, handed her to him, and then returned to Bryce and the carriage.

Alistair felt his heart beat quicken in his chest and his ribcage contract, almost smothering him. This was it. This was the moment he would see his future wife for the first time and he could hardly draw breath, he was so nervous. His palms grew clammy and he tried to wipe them on his breeches.

A hand extended from inside the carriage. Bryce took it, speaking to Maric.

Noise thudded in his head, drowning out voices and all sense. He dared not to blink, afraid he would miss something. Miss her face, or her hair, or miss her all together. That she would see him and disappear inside the carriage to hide.

What if she didn't like him?

What if she thought he was repulsive?

What if he fainted?

What if...? What if...?

The woman who stepped out of the carriage was ... slight and willowy and... _beautiful_. The air sped from Alistair's lungs on a fast exhale.

She was fair skinned, pink cheeked with cascades of dark brown hair falling in ringlets down her back and over her shoulders. He watched Maric lead her first to Cailan and Anora, taking in the way she stood, straight and unafraid, unwilling to cower in the company of the unknown. She was not tall; he could see she stood an inch or two shorter than Anora, but she had a certain presence in the way she held herself. Shoulders down, chin up. Not dissimilar to the way Anora presented herself. Her travelling gown was dark crimson, slashed with bolts of silver. The colour complimented her skin perfectly, and Alistair felt colour rise in his cheeks when Maric brought her to him.

"Alistair," Maric's voice sounded soft and very far away. He was barely listening, examining her face, the contours of her cheek bones, her nose and the slight curve of her mouth. "This is Roselyn."

She dropped into a curtsey, her eyes falling demurely. When she looked up at him, he saw her they were grey, stormy, like clouds before a thunder storm. Her expression stayed still, betraying nothing of her inner feelings or her impression of him. Her gaze remained on his face, locked on his eyes as she ascended smoothly to stand.

Taking her hand, Alistair swallowed hard and bowed. As with her mother, her skin was concealed by a glove, but his own flesh tingled at how close she was to him. All his fear and trepidation had left his body and he fought with every ounce of him not to grin. He kissed the back of her hand, lingering perhaps a moment or two longer than he should have before standing up straight.

"I'm pleased to meet you again, Roselyn."

"And you, Your Highness," she spoke, dropping her gaze again. Alistair released her slender fingers and watched as she clasped her hands before her. "I'm very glad to be here."

"I'm glad... you're... glad." Alistair answered, awkwardly. He saw his father shake his head, a small smile of amusement twisting his lips. "Did..." he cleared his throat, trying to recover, "your journey, was it... uh..."

"It was long." Roselyn told him curtly. "I'm eager to change and eat something."

"R-right," Alistair scratched the back of his head.

"An excellent idea," Maric agreed, leading the way into the palace, "Bryce, Eleanor, you and I have much to discuss about the wedding plans over dinner. I'll show you to the guest wing, let you change, and then we dine."

Cailan followed after his father and Roselyn's parents with Anora on his arm. Roselyn lingered, and Alistair hesitated before Teagan gave him a gentle shove in the back.

"Could I..." Blushing, Alistair rolled his eyes at himself, "I would, that is... _May_ I--"

"I believe the Prince would like to escort you inside, My Lady." Teagan explained helpfully.

Roselyn lifted a brow, glancing between the two men. Alistair offered his arm and she took it gingerly, holding her skirts to climb the steps. Alistair tried to smile, tried to find something to say but found nothing. His was head utterly empty of words or stories to break the rising tension.

He had fumbled his first impression, and he was sure he would pay for it. He led her inside, Teagan following behind. Already Maric was leading Bryce and Eleanor towards the guest apartments and Roselyn needed to follow.

She dropped his arm and smoothed out her skirt. "Thank you, Your Highness." She bowed a little. "I imagine I will see you at dinner."

"Yes." Alistair flushed. For a moment or two Roselyn looked at him shrewdly before turning with a graceful sweep to follow her parents.

Once she was out of view, Alistair rubbed his face in his hands and groaned. Teagan patted his shoulder.

"That could have gone much worse, Your Highness."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments and kudos on the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this second one. <3

_Month: Mid-Guardian. Two and a half months to the wedding._

_\--_

It was agreed their wedding was to take place three months from the date of Roselyn's arrival; in Bloomingtide on Summerday, to mark the changing season. There would be a procession through Denerim from the Chantry to the Palace after the ceremony which would allow Maric's subjects to catch a glimpse of his youngest son with his new bride. A banquet would be arranged for them with dancing and merriment, and there would be jousts and tourneys to mark the occasion during the following weeks ending with a grand masquerade which would also mark the departure of Roselyn's parents back to Highever.

Everything was arranged over Roselyn's head. All she was told when she asked about it was that it was in hand and that the day would be one to remember. She would be the most beautiful bride Thedas had ever seen, or so her mother and the ladies of her newly appointed royal apartments said. But if they were not careful, she would easily become the most irritated bride Thedas had ever seen.

Ever since she arrived in Denerim two weeks ago, she had barely seen or spoken to her future husband. They saw each other at dinner where they were seated at opposite ends of the elevated top table on the dais with Maric, Anora, Cailan and her parents. All the other members of the court ate at long tables in the hall able to look up at those on the dais.

Roselyn suspected that every effort was being taken to keep them away from each other and prevent them from getting to know one another before they took their vows, She grew more and more frustrated with each scuppered attempt to speak to the prince. Whenever they had a chance meeting in a corridor or greeted each other before dinner Alistair would be ushered away or Roselyn would be reminded of something dreadfully important she just _had_ to do.

It was infuriating! She had enough reservations about this marriage as it were. She did not want to go to the altar and make her vows before the Maker and their families knowing nothing but what she was told. And she was told much.

She learned that Alistair enjoyed hunting and hawking with his brother and was an accomplished rider. He took great care of his horses and enjoyed spending time in the stables. He was also a skilled swordsman, supposedly even better than his brother, and he could also handle spears and polearm weapons in combat. He participated in jousts and melee tourneys alongside his brother for glory and for fun. They both placed well, but Alistair always _just_ piqued Cailan to the post.

Yet his physical prowess was not his only admirable trait. He was well-read and educated, particularly in history and theology where he excelled. What was more, he was, by all accounts, charming, kind, pleasant and capable; all positive traits which should have quelled any doubts Roselyn still maintained.

They did not. In fact, they made her doubts worse. Sleep was elusive for her as her mind swirled with thoughts of what her life was to be once she married this total stranger. She was fearful that he would be like Cailan or Maric, who on the surface were both as charming and amiable as Alistair was being made out to be, but underneath that thin façade... she worried what was hidden.

Whenever she found herself sick with worry she would think back to their first meeting outside the palace. How he fumbled for words and was too shy to offer to escort her inside. She hoped that his behaviour had not just been for show. She _prayed_ that was not the case, that he had not deceived her in that first instance. While their initial meeting could have gone better, it had not been a disaster - at least not in Roselyn's mind. His stumbling was sweet, though she had hidden her true feelings behind a mask of indifference as she had been taught to do since a young age. She heard whispers from her ladies and gossiping servants that Maric shouted at Alistair for almost an hour after that first supper, berating him for being a fool and making not only himself appear stupid, but Maric also.

Knowing that he had been verbally beaten for being shy only made her want to speak to the prince more. She wanted to assure him that she had not been insulted or found his behaviour problematic. They needed to spend time with each other and get to know one another before their wedding, or the whole thing would be a fiasco for the ages. Stories of a stammering groom and a nervous, unwilling bride would be spread throughout the centuries. More than that, she was bored.

Since her arrival, she had been allowed nowhere without an escort. She was confined inside to either her apartments with her mother and the ladies or to one of the "approved" rooms such as the library or the hall. There she set to do needle work or read - something that made her sit still all day.  At Highever, she had had the full run of the castle. She could go where she wanted, and better yet she could _run -_ something she was not allowed to do here. She was even permitted to ride alone in Highever. Go beyond the castle to the town, to the fields, farms and woodlands that stretched for miles. She used to ride for hours with no one's company but her own and Roo. But in Denerim she was given no freedom and it was stifling. She missed home. She missed her horses. She missed practicing her archery. She missed her things, the familiarity of it all. This palace was to be her home for the rest of her days and it already felt like a prison.

Roselyn's royal apartments were temporary. Once she and Alistair were married, they would share his chambers which were supposedly bigger and more spacious. Yet these apartments dwarfed her own room at Highever, which only had bedchamber and a small reception area where people would wait to see her if she was not presentable. These apartments not only had a bed chamber and a reception room, but several other rooms attached to them. There was a small private chamber that came off from the bed chamber, but it was more like a box room with a window seat barely big enough for two people. There were three other rooms which opened onto each other: one area was for dining and the rest for entertaining. The rooms were beautifully ornate, but a bit on the grand side for Roselyn's tastes.

While they were spacious, her apartments were not private. Her mother had a room which led into her bedchamber and there was a door connecting the two which Eleanor refused to let Roselyn lock. She could come and go as she pleased, and she did - regularly. Usually it was to wake Roselyn before dawn and make sure she was presentable and as pretty as she could be when they went down to breakfast.

Aside from her mother, who was her constant companion, Anora was also almost always close at hand. She bought her own ladies in waiting, and Roselyn had several of those who had been chosen for her by her mother; women closer to Eleanor's age who gossiped like fish wives down at the market. Yet Anora's presence was the only one that did not put Roselyn's teeth on edge. She was clever, witty, and had a sharp mind. Roselyn found her company engaging and the two of them found common ground over history and debate. Yet Anora was also sad. Roselyn would sometimes glance at her up from her book or from her sewing and see the blonde woman let her guard down. She had the appearance of a woman worn in and tired of life; of a husband who was inattentive and loving only for show.

She was what Roselyn did not want to become - to be another Anora five years down the line. Childless, getting older every day, and married to a man who had no interests but himself. Who cared about no one but himself. If anything, Roselyn hoped she could be a friend to Anora and Anora a friend to her.

Putting her needlework to one side, Roselyn almost jumped up from her chair. "I want to go outside."

"I want does not get, darling." Eleanor cooed, returning to her needle and thread. "And you can't."

"Why not?" Roselyn bristled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why am I being kept in these rooms like a prisoner? This palace is to be my home, is it not?"

Eleanor lifted her head. "Do not shout at me, Roselyn."

"I am _not_ shouting. I am asking questions. Questions I believe deserve to be answered." Her arms tightened. She felt tension in her shoulders and the eyes of those assembled on her though they tried to hide it. Anora was the only one who watched openly.

"What questions are those, sweetling?" asked her mother, her tone dripping with a sweetness Roselyn's recognised from her childhood. It was a tone her mother would use to speak down to her. To baby her.

"Why am I am not allowed to see or even speak to the Prince?" demanded Roselyn, narrowing her eyes at the way her mother stiffened and how her expression shifted ever so slightly. "Why am I being kept locked away like I am some delicate flower? I would like to explore the palace which I will soon be calling my home. I would like to get to know the man I am expected to marry, whether I wish to or not. I would like to have my freedoms returned to me."

"This is not Highever." Eleanor's voice was waspish, her brows low over her eyes. "You cannot-- I _will not_ allow you to go gallivanting around the palace like a wild girl. You are to be married into the royal family and you are to behave in the way you are supposed to. Quietly, demurely and treating those around you with the respect and gratitude they deserve."

"I am--"

Eleanor cut her off, speaking quickly and with a firmness that left no room for argument. "The freedoms you were allowed at Highever do not apply here." Her nostril's flared. "Now sit down."

Roselyn remained standing, digging her fingernails into her upper arms. She wanted to fight back. She _had_ to fight back. "I-"

"I said," Eleanor snapped, " _sit._ " Her final word was a fierce hiss, contorting her face into a snarl.

Roselyn dropped into her chair, her cheeks hot with anger and tears simmering behind her eyes which she refused to shed. Retrieving her sewing, she punched the needle through the fabric over and over, imagining the sharp point as arrows being loosed from her bow meeting their mark every time.

She imagined Fergus at Highever, running the castle and making time to help Oren with his studies, sword fighting, and teaching him how to ride. She imagined the rolling fields around her home, the wood and parkland she had ridden over and over again. The does would be getting ready to birth their young soon, so would the wild boar sows. She would miss the fawns and the piglets all snuffling around in the undergrowth. She would miss Highever, and that more heavily weighed on her than any of her other woes.

Anora dropped a handkerchief into Roselyn's lap, coming to her side and dropping low in the guise of looking over her sewing. "Don't let them see your tears," she warned her, her voice low. "There are people here appointed by the King. It will get back to him."

Realising she had failed in her efforts not to cry, Roselyn mopped her eyes as neatly as she was able and swallowed several gulps of air to fight off any further ones. Her face was still burning, her cheeks still flushed, but she had regained her composure. She handed the piece of cloth back to Anora.

"Thank you."

The blonde woman's lips twitched into a small smile. She tucked the handkerchief away in a pocket in her dress. Roselyn felt her stroke her hair, an act of unexpected but not unwanted comfort. "With respect, Lady Cousland," Anora spoke rising to stand at her full height. At being addressed, Eleanor lifted her head. The other ladies continued their work, "Roselyn has a point."

"A point?" Eleanor queried.

"She is to live here," Anora stated, speaking with a clear resonance that demonstrated years of carefully finding her words and knowing what to say. "Unlike myself, who was raised as much in the Palace as my father's own castle, Roselyn has never been to the palace. If she is to not insult the King or the Princes by getting turned around or turning up late all the time, she will need to learn her way around."

"She can do that once the wedding--"

"She can do that _now,_ " Anora said, squaring her shoulders. Roselyn bit back her shock. Her mother was not used to being cut off mid-sentence, let alone ordered around. At home, anyone who showed such rudeness and impertinence would be punished. But here it was different. Anora out-ranked Eleanor. If the Princess-Consort wanted something or demanded something, Eleanor would not refuse for fear of insulting her. "She _will_ do that now."

Roselyn saw that her mother recognised that. She saw a glimmer in her eyes, one that spoke of relinquishing power she did not want to give up. Giving into Anora here was the first step of a very steep and slippery slope that meant her hold over Roselyn would gradually slacken. Soon she would not have a pawn to control. Yet refusing her was an insult and she could not abide that. Even a small slight could spell an end for this match which had been so painstakingly planned.

Roselyn watched her mother lower her eyes in begrudging resignation and hid her mouth behind her hands.

"I..." Eleanor swallowed, her face contorting as if she was drinking poison. "I suppose you have a point, Your Highness," she agreed. "If she is to live here then she should learn the layout."

"I'm glad you agree." Anora's smile was openly triumphant. She turned to Roselyn and gestured toward the door. "Come along. I'll give you the full tour which, I believe, you were not given when you first arrived."

"Yes." Roselyn almost leapt out of her chair. She did not try to keep the excitement from her voice. "A full tour!"

Anora grabbed her hand almost dragging her out of the rooms. The other ladies all rose to bob into small curtsies as she left. Once the door was closed behind them, Anora tucked Roselyn's arm around hers and began to walk at a slower pace, not speaking until they were down the hall away from the apartments. "I will probably get an earful from Cailan for that stunt."

Roselyn frowned. "On my account? I'm sorry. We can go back."

"We can. But do you want to?"

"No."

"Good." Anora smiled. "Besides, I can handle Cailan. His bark is worse than his bite."

"And the King?"

"Oh, Maric won't say anything against me." Her smile increased. "Being the daughter of his life-long friend and general has its..." she pursed her lips, thinking, "It has its perks." When she laughed, her eyes crinkled at the corners and she looked younger. Roselyn found herself smiling, feeling at ease for the first time since her arrival.

"So, where does this tour begin?" she asked, eager to explore and find the hidden niches that she hoped Anora would exploit.

"The gardens." There was a mischievous glint in Anora's eye that Roselyn did not miss, but she did not ask for clarification. Instead, she fell in step with the other woman while excitement bubbled in her chest.

 

* * *

 

Grunting under the weight of his brother's blade as he swung it down, Alistair clenched his teeth against the jolt that rushed up his shield arm from where the blow hit. Steeling his arm and his body, he dug his feet into the earth of the tilt yard and shoved his weight behind his buckler to heave Cailan away.

Cailan went staggering a few steps, drawing his two-handed bastard sword back. The both of them were panting and dripping with sweat, unwilling to back down and allow the other victory. A sparring match between the two of them never stayed friendly for long, and while they fought with blunted practice weapons, they both fought with every ounce of their strength.

"Have you spoken to her yet?" Cailan asked, raising his blade to block Alistair's lunge. "You're getting sloppy."

"Shut up." Alistair fended off a blow from his brother and jabbed through the gap in Cailan's arm. "And no."

Cailan huffed, he danced out of reach lifting his blade ready to strike, a look of confidence and cockiness marring his face. A look Alistair was only too familiar with. He peeked up over his shield, blade primed to attack, muscles tight ready to move. His brother was a slow fighter. He had stamina whereas Alistair had speed. Cailan could wear down opponents over time until they were tired and made mistakes. Alistair was quick and agile but would tire if a fight went on too long, making him an easy target. Their fighting styles could not have been more different, and as a result their practices were long and left them both aching afterwards.

"Why not?" Cailan swung his blade in an arc, creating a deadened thud on the earth as it went wide and Alistair deflected. Quick to recover, Cailan thrust with the blade again. This time Alistair blocked it. "Don't you like her?"

"I haven't had a chance to get to know her." Alistair grit his teeth in the effort it took to hold Cailan off. "Every time we come close--" He gained ground and Cailan slipped. "Every time we meet there's something that prevents us from talking." Rolling his shoulders, he twisted his blade in his hand. "You're dropping your elbow when you attack. Blade too heavy?"

"I am not dropping my elbow." As if to prove a point Cailan rushed him. Alistair rose his shield in time to fend off his first swing, then the four that followed. Each one sent a sharp pain ricocheting up his arm from his wrist. The sound of metal clunking on his wooden shield so close was deafening and made Alistair's ears ring. "What's preventing you from speaking?" grunted Cailan as he lifted one hand and signed for a break. He beckoned to a servant who stood a safe distance away and approached the sweating prince with a cloth. "Aside from you being... well... you."

Alistair returned Cailan's mocking grin and rolled his eyes. He took a cloth when it was offered and began to mop his brow and his neck. "She's not allowed to sit near me at dinner for one," explained Alistair, putting his shield to one side on the ground. "And when I've tried to go and talk to her someone's stopped me."

Cailan handed his cloth back to the attendant and called to another who carried a water skin. "You can hardly talk well over dinner. And you're seated apart because you look like a pig when you're eating."

"I do not," Alistair snapped and tossed his cloth into Cailan's face. His brother laughed and dropped it onto the floor.

"I'm only teasing you, Alistair," Cailan nudged him. "You have to be kept apart at meal times. It's not proper for the two of you to sit together while you're unmarried. Likewise, it's not right for you to be left alone together."

"I understand _that,_ " he growled a little, his frustration at the situation raising his temper and his hackles. "But when we've met in the hallway she gets  ushered off to do something by someone even though she wants to talk to me. I know she does." Raking his hand through his hair, he kicked the dirt before lifting his gaze back to Cailan. "And I know the old adage of not seeing the bride before the wedding. But _this_ is ridiculous. I don't want to just know her name and that her journey to Denerim was long. I want to know... her favourite colour. What her childhood was like. Did she have friends? What does she like to do? What books does she like to read? I want..." he sighed and felt foolish under the gaze and arched brow of his brother. "I want us to have a friendship or... or something like that. I don't want us to be strangers."

Cailan looked over his head, lifting his brows. "Well, now's your chance to start building that friendship." He gave a quick nod. "Here she comes."

Alistair whirled around dropped his blade in nervous excitement while his heart lept into his chest. At first he saw no one, then a moment later he felt his feet kicked from underneath him and landed unceremoniously on the ground. Above him, Cailan barked with laughter, clutching his stomach and doubling over. Alistair spat earth from his mouth, wiping his chin and his face.

"I can't believe you fell for that," Cailan howled. "You're so gullible!"

Getting to his feet, burning with embarrassment and annoyance at his brother, Alistair snatched the water skin and a cloth from a servant. He took a mouthful, spat on the ground and wiped his face and mouth with the cloth, glowering. Cailan's laughter was uncontainable; his face had turned scarlet and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

Resisting the urge to grab the back of Cailan's head and lift his knee into his face, Alistair shoved him roughly with his body as he marched towards the gate of the sparring ring. "Grow up, Cailan," he snapped, ignoring Cailan's shouts for him to stop and come back.

He had been an idiot to think Cailan would offer any real advice or help him in any way. Stupid to think Cailan would take his concerns seriously. Cailan took nothing seriously and yet he was still their father's favourite.

The only relief to him was that Roselyn had not been witness to Cailan tripping him up. Though that was something he would not have put past him if she was around. Cailan took any opportunity he could to upstage him -  it was his way. Alistair tried not to take it personally. Teagan told him it was normal sibling rivalry and that he should get his own back from time-to-time. Alistair had considered tightening Cailan's armor the night before a tourney so he could not compete. Or putting itching powder between his brother's sheets. He had even considered spiking his wine with a powder meant to loosen bowels, but he never did. He did not have it in him to play pranks or to inconvenience anyone, and he knew the pay-off would not be worth the punishment he would receive from his father. So he endured Cailan's "friendly" sibling rivalry with grimaces and smiles, taking the brunt of it because he was the younger brother.

He hoped when Cailan and Anora had first married that he would be able to escape from Cailan more often and not be subjected to his ire. He also imagined that when they eventually had a child, Cailan would mature and take on the role of a father; not a spoiled prince who enjoyed tormenting his brother. Yet there was still no child, so Cailan's pestering was set to continue with no foreseeable end.

Not concentrating on where he was walking, Alistair turned a corner from the tilt yard and into the gardens. His stomach growled and he considered walking all the way to the kitchens and grabbing something to eat before supper.

"Alistair!"

He stopped to the sound of his name being called and recognised the voice as Anora. Glancing around he spotted her beyond a line of yew trees. He smiled and took off towards her, freezing when he realised she was not alone - Roselyn was on her arm. Caught between intense fear and the desire to run away, he stumbled and grabbed one of the trees to balance himself. Each time he saw her he was struck with the same feelings as he had been on their first encounter. His heart rate increased, colour and heat rose in his cheeks, and he felt his skin prickle, his nerves coming alive. She was as radiant now as she had been climbing out of the carriage, wearing a dress of pale violet and cream while her hair was contained in a pretty net encrusted with small pearls. She curtsied to him, dropping her gaze politely. Alistair bowed his head, trying not to grin when they locked eyes for a few moments as she rose.

"You're filthy," Anora remarked, walking towards him with Roselyn on her arm. "What have you been doing?"

Alistair looked down at himself and saw that front of his cotton shirt and leather breeches were covered in dirt after Cailan shoved him to the ground. He blushed and tried to brush the soil away, but only succeeded in making it worse as he smeared it it across the material.

"I was..." he glanced at Roselyn who's eyes had not left his face. "I was with Cailan. Sparring. I got clumsy." He did not want to admit he had fallen for one of Cailan's guiles and ended up with a mouthful of dirt.

"I see..." Anora lifted a brow and pursed her lips. Alistair wanted to shrink under her clever, cool gaze. He liked Anora but could never always tell what she was thinking. Her expression never betrayed her feelings or her thoughts. She guarded herself carefully. "I managed to sneak Roselyn away... I thought you might like the opportunity to talk."

"Oh!" Roselyn's eyes widened. Clearly Anora had not made mention of her plot and had caught her complete off guard with this surprise. "Anora, no."

Alistair felt her words bite into him. His fingers chilled and his stomach dropped. Of course she did not want to spend time with him. He looked more like an urchin or a farmer than a royal prince. And she... well, she was a work of art. Of course she would not want to speak to him.

"It's fine, Anora," Alistair tried to keep his tone light. "I should wash up anyway." He smiled weakly, nodding his head to Roselyn. "I'm sure I'll see you at supper." He turned, wanting to hide from his humiliation. He would walk all the way around the palace to get to the kitchens if it meant avoiding bumping into them again.

"No, Your Highness," Roselyn interjected and caught him mid-step. He was certain he felt the ghost of a touch on his fingers. Turning back to Roselyn, he saw she was standing free of Anora's hold, hands clutched before her and head bowed. "I apologise, I realise how that may have sounded," she began. Alistair watched her clench her fingers and it dawned on him, she was as nervous as he was. She was shaking too, terrified of offending him or saying something wrong. He almost wanted to take her hands and tell her he knew exactly how she felt. "I meant... I would very much like to talk to you." She lifted her head, her cheeks darkened in colour while her voice shook slightly. She still held her head up with her chin risen and her eyes on his, unfaltering. "I'm... I'm just concerned, I don't believe we're supposed to be left alone... So... So, I--"

"That's why I'm here," Anora interjected breezily. "Consider me your chaperone. I'll walk a few paces behind you, but you're not alone so you're not breaking any rules." She turned to Alistair and asked, "Does that suit Your Highness?"

Glancing between Anora and Roselyn and back, he noticed for the first time in a long while that Anora had a colour to her cheeks. She was smiling, and it was a genuine smile; not one reserved for court or for the sake of appearances. She had decided to take Roselyn under her wing and befriend her. To what end, Alistair was not sure, but it was a kindness and he appreciated it.

"Yes," he nodded, "very much." He turned his attention to Roselyn. "I won't offer my arm because... well, I'm covered in dirt and I don't want to dirty your dress. But if you're content to walk in the gardens I can show you around?"

Glancing back at Anora who nodded, Roselyn managed a small smile. "If it please Your Highness."

"Alistair." He prompted, clasping his hands behind his back. He began to walk. "Please call me Alistair."

"That's a little too informal," Roselyn replied walking at his side a small distance between them. "F-for now, at least." She amended. "Perhaps... when we know each other better?"

"That's fair," he agreed. "I do very much want to get to know you." As soon as he said the words he wanted to take them back. That was too much information. Too eager. Too forward. Worry trickled down his spine when he saw Roselyn peer up at him. Like Anora, she kept her expression carefully guarded and still. It made her unreadable and it unnerved him.

"I would like that too, Your Highness," Roselyn replied.

They walked in silence for a minute or two, Anora keeping a reasonable distance behind them. From the corner of his eye he watched Roselyn's face, her eyes taking in the expansive gardens of the palace. Of all the greatness of Denerim's royal palace, the gardens were Alistair's favourite part of it. They stretched for acres and each garden had a different theme, yet they intertwined with each other. They were walking around the hedge maze, a place recalled getting lost a few times as a boy. There was also a rose garden which was planted for and favoured by the late Queen Rowan, and a herb garden close to the kitchens.

Clearing his throat, Alistair grimaced while struggling to find something to say. "I..." he scratched the back of his head when Roselyn turned her head to look at him. Her eyes flashed for a moment and he felt his chest tighten. "How... how do you like the palace?" He asked, wanting to groan at the lameness of his question.

"It's... big," Roselyn remarked. "I used to think Highever was big, but the palace dwarfs it." Her voice softened at the mention of her home castle. Alistair glanced over his shoulder at Anora who was pretending not to listen. "I'm sure I'll become accustomed to the palace once I know it better." Roselyn smiled.

"I don't remember much of Highever from our visits." Alistair explained, clutching onto the fondness he had heard in her voice. "Do you miss it much?" She hesitated. She tried to hide it, but he saw. She didn't want to insult him or her new home by admitting the truth. Of course she missed it. "It's alright to tell me," his lips turned upwards in a warm smile. "I won't rat you out."

Roselyn looked at him for several seconds, her lips drawn to one side. He could feel her weighing him up with her eyes. Trying to sense if there as any ulterior motive beneath his questions. "I do miss it," she said with finality. "But I'm sure I'll learn to like the palace."

"What do you miss?"

"My room. My apartments here are lovely, but... I'm not used to having such a large space. I miss hearing the guards talking while on patrol and the sound of Nan in the kitchens. I miss hearing my brother and Ser Gilmore spar in the tilt yard..." They kept walking as she spoke. Alistair could see her gaze was far off, recalling the castle. "I miss the land around Highever. The parks and the woodland... I could ride for miles and never see another soul."

"You like to ride?"

"Mhm-hm," she nodded, "and hunt. I'm quite handy with a bow."

Alistair grinned. The air between them was calming, tension beginning to fizzle the more they talked. "You'll have to show me."

"You... don't know how to use a bow?" Roselyn lifted a brow.

Chuckling, Alistair shook his head. "I think it requires a certain... finesse. I don't have the skill or the grace to fire a bow."

Peering up at him again, he watched Roselyn narrow her eyes. "You're flattering me, aren't you?"

"Maybe. A little." He watched as a flush flooded her cheeks. The space between them crackled, the easiness of before beginning to dissipate. He decided to change the subject. "Do you like it here at least? Do you think you'll be happy?"

"This is the first time I've had a chance to explore... I think, given time, I could like it here. Denerim is rather foreign to me." They turned a corner, Alistair lifted a straying branch out of the way. "I've only been the capital a handful of times and each time I was kept close to my parents. I've not had a chance to explore or take in the sights."

"I'd be happy to show you around." He blurted out, not quite thinking on what he was saying. "I mean," he faltered, "if you'd like. Maybe."

She nodded, eyes softening. "Yes. I think I would."

"And what about here in the palace? Do you like living here so far?"

"Well," Roselyn shrugged her shoulders. "Yes. It's lovely. Although, I was..." She trailed catching herself. Alistair watched her bite her bottom lip. "Never mind." She began to walk faster, speeding ahead a few paces.

Alistair grasped her hand before thinking about it. His flesh trembled under her touch. Her skin was smooth and so soft, unblemished. She had long, slim fingers that seemed dwarfed in his own hand. And her skin was so pale by comparison to his. He liked how her hand felt in his, the way she clenched her fingers a little before hurriedly tugging her hand away.

"I--" choked Alistair, dropping his hand and feeling as though his skin was on fire. "What was it you were going to say?" He hoped that if neither of them mentioned his gesture they could both just skip over it.

"I shouldn't," Roselyn shook her head. "I don't wish to make a fuss."

"You're not making a fuss." He stood at ease and chuckled, hoping it would make her feel more comfortable too. "Please tell me," he urged when Roselyn said nothing. "I don't want to have to pull out the Prince card this early in our acquaintance."

"Oh?" Roselyn laughed and Alistair puffed his chest out, swelling with pride that he had amused her. He saw when she laughed that dimples appeared in her cheeks. "Am I to expect the Prince card to be played often?"

"Not without cause," he retorted, still playful. Roselyn touched her fingers to her mouth, concealing her smile. "Please?" Alistair asked again.

She sighed this time, but it wasn't a sigh of frustration or resignation. "My mabari, Roo," Roselyn began, "she's being kept in the kennels. I've been told she's not allowed in the palace and I understand there are rules, but Roo has barely left my side since she imprinted on me when I was fourteen." She clenched her hands in front of her turning her knuckles white. "I don't wish to cause problems or be impertinent but would it be possible for an exception to me made? She's not a boisterous dog, not aggressive or noisy. She's really more an over grown lap dog if I'm being honest." She turned her head, looking up at Alistair. "Do you think it would be possible?"

"Consider it done." He smiled, nodding. "I'll speak to my father. I'm sure he'd allow it."

"You think so?"

"Yes. And if not, I still say you should have your mabari with you."

"You'd disobey your father's wishes?"

He cocked his head. "I do it more than you would think."

"Thank you," Roselyn smiled, "Your Highness."

Alistair guided her down another path and beneath another archway. They were some distance from the palace. Anora still tailed, gradually putting more distance between herself and them. The smell of earth and gravel were smothered by the scent of the rose garden. It was too early in the year for them to be in full bloom, but over the last month there had been unseasonably warm weather which caused a handful to bud and come into flower early.

"This is Queen Rowan's rose garden," Alistair informed Roselyn, noticing her eyes light up at the sight of the flowers. "My father planted it for her while she was carrying Cailan. According to him she would sit in her window and look out over the garden, humming to Cailan before he was born."

"And what did she do while she carried you?"

He blushed and swallowed hard at the weight which had appeared in his stomach. His throat closed a little as he gulped and glanced around. Crossing to one of the bushes, Roselyn followed him. "The garden is really quite impressive when all the flowers are out." He told her, ignoring her question and hoping she would not press the matter.

He watched Roselyn slide her fingertips over the velvet red petal of one flower. "We struggle to grow roses at Highever. Something about the soil being too hard or... something." She shrugged. "It's why I'm called Roselyn. My father liked the idea of me being the only rose able to bloom in Highever."

"It's a good name," Alistair admitted, his tone low and his eyes on her face. Roselyn offered him a small, shy smile and walked further towards another bush with a few pink roses. Holding his breath, Alistair plucked the flower she had touched from its stem. He bowed to her back holding it out to her in a grand gesture. "A rose for a rose?" he asked, grinning to himself.

He watched Roselyn as she turned. The blush crept up her neck and darkened her face. The surprise in her gaze eventually grew quieter and calmer until it was almost a look of fondness. She took the flower from his fingers in tentative hands which she fought to stop shaking. "Thank you," her voice cracked the tiniest bit when she spoke, "Your Highness."

Beaming, it took a few seconds for him to realise Anora was speaking to him before he broke out of his reverie. "We should go back inside and finish our tour," Anora told Roselyn, tucking her hand around Roselyn's elbow. "I hope you don't mind, Alistair."

"Must we?" Roselyn asked.

"Yes," Anora chuckled. "I'm sure you and the Prince will find other opportunities to talk before long."

"Absolutely. Definitely," Alistair could not hold back his foolish grin. "Without a doubt."

"Very well," Roselyn agreed. She dropped into a curtsey, lowering her eyes. "Thank you for the walk, Your Highness. And for the rose and... your company."

"I should be thanking you." He nodded his head in a quick, polite bow. "I'll see you both at supper." He watched them leave, noticing how Roselyn's gaze lingered on him as she disappeared behind the yew hedges. Pushing out a long breath to settle the butterflies in his stomach, Alistair set off at a run a few seconds later in the direction of the kennels.

Art by MianzuArt on tumblr. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roselyn's first visit into Denerim as Prince Alistair's future bride does not go as planned, but in the aftermath they are afforded a moment alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr] Who are both magnificent, beautiful tropical fish.
> 
> \- Chapter rating: T.

_Month: Drakonis. Two months to the wedding._

_\--_

The following morning Roselyn awoke before her mother did and found a surprise waiting for her on the table at her bed side: a pink rose with a note folded and creased around its stem. It was placed next to the first rose Alistair gave her, which sat in a small glass vase filled with water. Roselyn reached for the gift while pushing herself up in bed and clearing her wild hair away from her face.  
  
She smelled the rose's sweet perfume, holding it close to her face while letting the petals graze against her lips. Unfolding the note, she read the one line written there in a confident, square hand:

_"A rose for a rose.  
            Alistair."_

Fighting to keep back her smile, Roselyn skimmed the words a few more times. She turned the bloom around in her fingers and relinquished to the grin that broke out across her mouth. Giggling she fell back against her pillows, her face growing hot and her heart fluttering in her chest. She pressed the note to her lips. Still giddy she climbed out of bed, suddenly eager to see the Prince again.

The same ritual occurred every morning for the two weeks that followed. Roselyn woke up to a note and a flower on her bedside table. The note's content changed from simple morning greetings to invitations to go riding. The flowers were always roses until one morning she woke to find a dark purple daisy folded in the paper and the words:

_"No more roses until the summer. Will this suffice?  
            Alistair."_

Each day she wrote a quick reply before going down to the hall to eat breakfast and dropped her reply into Alistair's seat. Its content was never anything crude for she was very much aware of the eyes on both of them. She knew only too well that her behaviour needed to be perfect and without fault. Any crassness on her part would be unacceptable, so she remained polite in her notes and eventually grew slightly flirtatious as the days went on.

They were still not permitted to sit near each other during meals times, but they would catch each other's eyes along the table for a second or two and look away; a game of bashful, coy glances bordering on inviting and tentative flirtation.

Alistair held to his promise and Roo was returned to Roselyn's company the day after they had first spoken. The mabari now accompanied her mistress everywhere around the palace and out. She terrorized the gardens, the servants, and occasionally Alistair by lumbering about and being either too playful or too affectionate.

Ever since Anora usurped her mother's authority, she took Roselyn out of Eleanor's grasp at every opportunity. No longer was Roselyn confined to her rooms and the company of older ladies and her mother. She and Anora walked the gardens daily and for longer periods as the days grew steadily warmer. They would "happen" upon Alistair, with or without Cailan, which allowed he and Roselyn to speak more. Anora meanwhile hung back but within a close enough distance to be seen as chaperoning them.

The days they rode out together with Anora, Cailan, and a small group of guards for their protection, Alistair showed her as much of the surrounding parkland as possible, namely what was owned by the crown and what was rented out to farmers. They came across herds of deer and wild sheep and were often greeted by laborers working in the fields.  Roselyn noticed how familiar Alistair seemed with them, for each time someone greeted them he stopped their group to hop out of the saddle and talk with them. Most of their time their stops were brief, but on occasion they stayed an hour or more.

Each time they stopped, Alistair helped Roselyn down from the saddle - a brief moment of closeness which always left the two of them a little flushed - and introduced her. She was impressed by how much interest Alistair took in running the land and how attentive he was to the problems that were occurring with ploughing fields and damage done by storms during the winter. She saw how he spoke to the people as equals, not as those beneath him. He understood the most basic rule of being in a position of power: the power came from the people at the bottom. If they were not happy, the power could be taken away.He took more interest that Cailan, who stopped joining them after their third ride out together.

Roselyn found herself liking her intended more and more. He was related to Cailan and Maric, but while he had inherited his father's looks, she believed his personality came more from his mother. He was kind whereas Cailan was callous. He listened and Cailan did not. He _cared_ and she could see the people appreciated that just as she did.  
  
She also observed that he was willing to get his hands dirty, sometimes literally. Whenever they needed help in repairing a barn or mending a broken fence, he shed himself of his riding jacket and turned his sleeves up to the crook of his elbow. Each time he did this, he discarded the title of Prince and fit in as well as any of the other farm hands. His help was always greeted with warmth and genuine gratitude. The people loved him, and Roselyn noticed that he either did not notice or chose not to. He was humble and insisted on doing it "because it was the right thing to do."

Each day Alistair surprised her. Before arriving in Denerim, she expected to find a snotty nosed Prince who was arrogant, stuck up, had too high an opinion of himself, and would be as loving to her as a cat to a fish. Instead she found someone who was generous with his time and his energy, humble, and did everything and yet asked for nothing. He was never going to inherit anything grand and would always be in his brother's shadow as far as their father was concerned, yet it never seemed to bother him. She had yet to hear him complain about his lot in life, despite the treatment Maric and Cailan demonstrated towards him at meal times. They teased and taunted him, making jokes at his expense almost every night as the wine flowed. Anora was all that kept Roselyn from defending Alistair from the jibes of his father and brother. She kept her on guard and tutored her in how to behave around Cailan and Maric. She taught her to never answer too truthfully and try to avoid answering a question by deflecting them. She warned her that Maric might corner her and catch her off guard with sudden, quick-fire inquiries which seemed innocuous at the time but in truth were his way of weeding out unrest and potential betrayal.

During her forth week in Denerim and only two months from her wedding, Roselyn was prepared for her first outing in the guise of Prince Alistair's fiancée. She, along with her parents, Alistair, Anora, Maric, Cailan, and a small contingent of guards, were to visit the elven Alienage in Denerim and check on repairs being done after the harsh storms of the winter. The responsibility and oversight of the reconstruction and welfare of the city elves had been put to Cailan and it was the first visit Maric was taking to the Alienage in almost a year.

Her mother was beside herself with excitement and determined to make sure Roselyn's first official appearance went smoothly. Eleanor wanted the people of Denerim to see Roselyn and love her, so her daughter had to make the best impression possible. She also wanted them to know that know Roselyn came from good stock - Cousland stock. She was so eager that she woke Roselyn before dawn to get her ready. This left her tired and throughout the carriage ride through the city she stifled yawns while listening to the sound of enthusiastic cheering and horse hooves clip-clopping on the streets.

"Once we get out, you can't yawn," Eleanor swatted Roselyn's hand from her mouth. "It'll be seen as bad manners. You'll insult the King."

Roselyn managed not to roll her eyes. "I'd be more worried about insulting the elves, mother," she chided. Anora smirked a little, her gaze directed out of the window. "Besides, I wouldn't be yawning if you hadn't woken me before the whole palace."

"Someone has to make sure you look presentable."

"The fire wasn't even lit in my room."

"Stop slouching."

"Mother--" Roselyn recoiled out of her mother's reach, clenching her hands. "Enough."

A look flickered across Eleanor's face, one that Roselyn was becoming more and more familiar with. A look of quietly simmering anger and begrudging respect. At Highever, Roselyn was a tool of her mother's whim. She was used as bait and something to be bargained with in her political games. It was a role Roselyn had grown accustomed to playing, tiresome as it had been.

With Anora's help, she was slowly slipping out of her mother's suffocating grip. She was learning how to say no and defend herself from her mother's underhanded snipes, her biting words, and her picking and prodding. She always made sure that Roselyn knew she was not yet good enough when in truth, Roselyn was better than enough.

"I really wish you would let me help you, darling," Eleanor sighed, playing the wounded party as well as she could. "I'm your mother. I only want what's best."

"For whom?" Roselyn bit back, looking out the window at the passing buildings and the blurred faces.

Eleanor gasped, "For you, of course. Who else?"

Roselyn arched an eyebrow but said nothing, catching the subtle shake of Anora's head, a gesture which signalled to her to let it go. Not to allow  her mother to dig her nails in and get the argument she wanted or manipulate her. After a pregnant silence Eleanor sighed, releasing the tension in the air. Anora smiled a gentle, approving smile which Roselyn caught a glimpse of.

Anora grew higher and higher in Roselyn's esteem. Not only was she the soul responsible for allowing her and Alistair to meet and speak so frequently, but she took it upon herself to show her the ropes of the palace. She explained who Roselyn needed to speak to about what things. The palace's size was much bigger than Highever and meant that the number of servants was massive by comparison. Anora did not know them all by name, but she knew what they did by sight and the livery they wore. She knew who each servant answered to and was always polite to them just as Alistair was. The servants liked and respected her, and as the days went by they began to warm up to Roselyn, too. During their talks, Alistair commented about how Anora seemed different with Roselyn around. He remarked how Anora taking Roselyn under her wing had given her a new focus.

The carriage came to a stop outside the gates to the Alienage. From the window Roselyn could see the crowds of city elves gathered to catch a glimpse of the King, his sons, and those that accompanied him. Guards, armed and in full armour, formed a protective and imposing presence around them all as they were led through the gates by an elf named Valendrian, the city elves Hahren.

The focal point of the Alienage was a great tree, the vhenadahl, around which everything was built up. Buildings packed together with only tiny, narrow streets that were barely big enough to squeeze through. The buildings were taller than what Roselyn was accustomed to seeing in the Highever Alienage and from what she gathered, were designed to house elves in separate rooms, rather than allowing each elf having their own house for their family. There were scaffolds everywhere and building materials left out and unattended along with various tools and carts to move heavy stone or mortar from place-to-place.

"Where are the workers?" Roselyn asked Anora, keeping her voice low so not to disturb Maric and his conversation.

Eleanor pinched the back of her hand. "Shh."

Roselyn's lips twisted and she rubbed where her flesh hurt. There would be time for questions later. This was an opportunity for her to investigate and learn more about the elven Alienage and how to make it a better place to live. Looking over the living situation here, she could only think back to the Alienage in Highever, where the elves were as much a part of daily life as the people were. Here, the elves looked sickly; many had a waxy pallor and a greying complexion, lank hair and wide, wild eyes making them appear almost feral. They were clearly underfed with some so thin that they struggled to keep their clothes on their shoulders.

Valendrian led the group through the main square of the Alienage and past the great vhenadahl. His conversation with Maric was amicable but low. They walked a few steps ahead of everyone else to keep their words as private as possible. Everywhere their group went, eyes peered out of shuttered windows and doors. Elves turned away, only to peer over their shoulders at the visitors in their finery. Despite wearing a heavy gown of silk and damask, Roselyn felt almost naked under their scrutinising gazes. She was over dressed and felt guilty for the way she almost paraded her clothes in front of them.

Her mother and Anora moved off with Cailan and Bryce, talking amongst themselves. They kept eyes on the King and Valendrian. Her parents and Cailan pretended to be blind to what was around them. Alistair slowed his steps on purpose and began to walk at Roselyn's pace until they were side-by-side.

With no sharp eyes watching them, Roselyn dropped her hands to her sides as casually as possible. Following her silent hint, Alistair did the same. Never looking at her he reached for her fingers with his; quiet and unassuming. Wrapping his index and middle fingers around hers, he drew her hand towards him until they could press palm-to-palm, fingers lacing together.

Warmth flooded Roselyn's cheeks and neck. She felt giddy, almost naughty for what they were doing. Holding hands and not being married - a scandalous thing to do. But she enjoyed it while they had the opportunity.

His hands were rough, made so though weapons training most of his life. Her fingers were dwarfed by his and every time he ran his thumb across her knuckles, she felt a little tingle of excitement shudder through her body. He squeezed her fingers between his. Not too hard, but enough that she could feel it. She glanced up at him when she squeezed back. He was fighting a smile, the corner of his mouth curved upwards in a crooked way. His own cheeks were tinged red and the colour deepened when he noticed her looking.

"Have you told him, Valendrian?" A sharp female voice shocked Roselyn from her momentarily blissful stupor. She and Alistair jumped apart as their party came to a stop. She missed the feel of his hand almost immediately but turned her focus to where the new voice had come from.

Standing in front of the group was an elven woman with hair like fire and eyes that matched. While she too did not look healthy or well fed, she stood to her full height to try and appear imposing. Hands on her hips, legs shoulder width apart, her lips drawn into a tight line on her otherwise pretty face.

"Shianni..." Valdenrian shook his head, a subtle indication for her not to speak.

"He needs to know!" Shianni snapped.

One guard stepped forward as Shianni approached. "Stand down, elf!"

"Enough!" Maric barked and the guard dropped back. Roselyn watched Valendrian shift uncomfortably. The mood of those around her grew tense. Alistair's face hardened and he was primed to move if necessary. Cailan was at his father's side too, leaving Anora with Bryce and Eleanor. "What is it Valendrian should tell me?" asked Maric, standing a few feet away from Shianni.

She took a breath. "We were told that your son, Prince Cailan, would be overseeing the repairs and reconstruction of the Alienage," she explained. "That promise has not been fulfilled. That boy," she jerked a finger at Cailan, "hasn't been near the Alienage since the storms of the winter. There have been no workers sent. No supplies. We have had none of the help we were promised."

Cailan crossed his arms. "There's scaffolding up."

"Our scaffolding!" Shianni snapped at him. "And the repairs we have managed to do were done with things we could reuse from destroyed buildings or barter for extortionate prices from merchants who think just because we're elves, we can be fleeced for the gold we have to work twice as hard as any shem to earn."

"Then what do you need workers for?" asked Cailan, snorting with indignation. "If you can do the work yourselves, then why should the crown waste money paying professionals?"

"Because they _are_ professionals, you jumped up spoiled shit heel!" she shouted at him. Her nostril's flared, her anger growing. "The work we have managed to do has been done by the elderly and those with no training because many of us cannot afford to take days off the few jobs we can get! The repairs are taking longer and longer. The poor weather has made disease spread and we are suffering for it, Your Majesty."

"I was going to bring this up to His Majesty in time, Shianni," Valdenrian sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Well now he knows! The truth has been made clear to him!" She shot back. "If he cares at all for his elven subjects, he'll do something."

"You don't think I care?" asked Maric.

Shianni seemed to hesitate for a moment, before gathering her courage. "You put the duty of rebuilding homes and lives in the hands of a boy who cares nothing for the people and country that will one day be his," she explained. "What are we elves supposed to take from that?"

"You're very bold," remarked Maric.

Shianni lifted her chin. "I want what is best for my people. We have as much right to be treated well as you do."

Cailan snorted. "You aren't going to take that kind of preaching and accusation from a knife-ear, are you father?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Make an example of her."

"What did you call me?!" snarled Shianni. She took a step towards Cailan and the guards crowded around him. "Say it again."

"Now, Shianni..." Valendrian lifted his hands, trying to placate her.

"He called me a knife-ear!" She shouted, raising her voice for everyone to her. "The Prince of the realm called me a knife-ear!"

Murmurs began to arise from the elves nearby. Roselyn drew closer to Alistair's side. He grabbed her hand, hard this time to keep a hold of her. Elves who had been hiding in buildings began to flood out, their eyes now on Cailan, Maric, and Shianni. They advanced from all sides, forcing the group to back up step-by-step. The guards drew blades, keeping the growing number of elves at bay.

"You don't care about us at all, do you Your Highness?" Shianni spat on the ground. "You just see us as a dirty mark in the city of Denerim. You wouldn't care if we all died out."

"Cailan--" Maric snatched his son's arm and squeezed, stopping him from speaking and making matters worse.

The guards were heavily outnumbered and even with their weapons, the increasing elven mob could tear them all to ribbons. Valendrian's attempts to pacify the city elves fell on deaf ears. Their shouts for Cailan, for justice, and for help grew into a crowing cacophony of noise.

Roselyn was jerked one way then another. Anora pulled her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist yanking her from Alistair and towards the entrance to the Alienage. Eleanor was with them and a small handful of guards to keep them safe. They each piled into the carriage and one guard slammed the door behind them. The horses sped into action, hooves grinding on the ground and kicking up stones as they sped off, leaving Alistair, Maric, Cailan and Roselyn's father in the unrest of the Alienage.

 

* * *

Alistair could not remember seeing his father as angry as he had witnessed when they returned to the palace, and was grateful that he had not been the focus of his fury. He had been little more than an onlooker and silent throughout all of Cailan's dressing down. Maric bellowed insults, calling Cailan every name under the sun, cursing him to Andraste and the Maker. Cailan just stood there, stoic and taking his father's words as he was supposed to.

He knew his father and brother would be best friends once again in a day or two when they cooled off. They would probably go hunting together to re-cement their bond as father and favoured son. He knew too that what had occurred in the Alienage would go forgotten. The plight of the city elves would be ignored by Maric until it became too much of an issue and it needed to be faced. When that time came, Alistair would be forced to stand at his brother and father's side, pretending to agree with whatever decision they came to. He would have to smile and keep his mouth shut, no matter his true feelings on the matter.

He only hoped he would be able to help the elves in some small way with what standing he had. The elves, after all, were well within their rights to be angry and upset. They were promised help and it had not been given to them. And when the person responsible was confronted, he tried to shirk the blame onto some imaginary villain. Their homes were unliveable, there was sickness on the streets striking down the young and old alike, and no one seemed to care.

Wanting to do something and being able to accomplish something were two different things, and even though he was a prince his power was limited by his father's rule and by his brother's position as heir to the throne. He could only do a small amount, but he already had plans he wanted to put into motion; ideas for new housing and how it could be achieved before the autumn came.

Striding through the corridors of the palace, the only noise that followed him was the sound of his boots echoing off the floor and the walls. Most of the servants were in bed. In fact, most of the palace was asleep and Alistair would have been too, had his mind not been awash with ideas and possibilities. He had been at his desk in his room since supper, scribbling down ideas and jotting notes to himself about building materials and costs. How many people could live to a house. The space each building would need. The possibility of setting up an elven clinic, run by elven mages sent from the Circle. Things that the elves desperately needed, things that had to be addressed, and could not be ignored.

He clutched his plans in one hand and pushed open the door to the library. The person he sought, his tutor Ephraim, was often awake at unreasonable hours, tracking the movement of the stars through a telescope. Alistair stayed up with him on more than one occasion. He wanted to present his ideas to his tutor first before presenting them to his father for consideration. Ephraim was as honest as Maric but not as dismissive or abrupt. He would tell Alistair without coddling him if his ideas were of any merit and would also help him tidy up the scruffy edges of his thoughts.

The library was one of the smaller rooms of the palace and was always quiet. It was lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stood floor to ceiling and were all stuffed with books. Ladders on wheels were arranged around the room so people could reach whatever was on the higher shelves. In the centre of the room were two long, dark wood tables with griffins, mabari, and intricate designs of vines and leaves carved on their legs and corners.

The door closed behind him and he paused after taking a few steps into the room. A figure at one of the tables caught his attention and he watched a quill coming to a stop in her fingers as she lifted her gaze to him.

Feeling his stomach drop somewhere to the floor, Alistair swallowed once, twice in an attempt to dampen his throat which had turned cracked and dry. His tongue felt heavy when he tried to speak, so he saved himself the embarrassment and didn't.

They weren't supposed to be alone. In fact, Roselyn wasn't supposed to be left alone. So why was she here? In the library? And clearly without an escort or chaperone? His palms grew sweaty and he fumbled for the rolls of paper in his hands.

"Your Highness?" Roselyn smiled and began to rise out of her chair.

"Don'tgetuponmyaccount!" Alistair barked, stumbling over his words in his effort to get them out. He blushed at his foolishness, burning under his clothes. Roselyn stayed seated, her attention on him with half-hooded eyes.

He noticed she was dressed in a cotton shift and a long cloak fastened around her shoulders, practically naked by normal standards. Her hair was loose down her back too, like she had come from her bed. He gave a curt nod of his head, gulping down air to find his voice. "I'm sorry that I disturbed you."

"You didn't."

"Have--" Alistair cleared his throat, "have you see Ephraim?"

"No." Roselyn shook her head sending ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. Alistair noticed that she was not entirely alone; at her feet was her mabari, big amber eyes open watching him. "Why were you looking for him?"

"Oh..." Alistair clenched his hand around the papers he clutched. "No reason."

There was silence between them. Heavy, uncomfortable silence. It was the first time they had ever been alone together and that was something they both knew. If they were caught there would be gossip. Knowing he should turn and leave her, go back to his rooms and find Ephraim in the morning, Alistair instead found himself moving towards her. While they could talk quite candidly with Anora around there was always an air of politeness and pretence. This was the first opportunity they had to talk as equals. As far as they knew it would be the only opportunity they would have until after the wedding.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, wanting to take back the words as soon as he said them. He closed his eyes, cursing inwardly and wishing he was as cool and confident when it came to talking as his brother was. Instead he was a bumbling fool, tripping over what he wanted to say, never able to make it clear. "I mean... at the Alienage. That was--"

"Quite an experience," Roselyn remarked. "I'm fine, thank you, Your Highness. A little shaken but... unhurt." Her smile was calm and unguarded, an attempt to put him at ease. "And you?"

"I'm fine," Alistair grinned. "Cailan may never recover from the dressing down our father gave him but I came out unscathed for a change. We had to stay to try and calm things down. There was no fighting or weapons drawn. Though I'm certain the woman, Shianni, wanted Cailan's tongue for the 'knife-ear' remark." He leaned his hands on the back of a vacant chair near where Roselyn sat. He could see from the light of the candles she had around her she had been writing.

"What happened?" Inquired Roselyn turning her body towards him in her seat. "After Anora, my mother and I were escorted away? I've asked around the palace but no one will tell me."

"Valendrian and the King managed to calm the crowd. There was no bloodshed - thank the Maker - but it came close." Alistair told her thinking back to the afternoon. He had never felt a fear like it, for several minutes he had truly feared for his life and those of Cailan and his father. "We spoke with Valendrian, Shianni and other elves of importance about what needed to be done. My father is sending missives out to builders, carpenters and stonemasons in the hopes we can rebuild the Alienage before the autumn. In the mean time what labourers and builders we have to spare in Denerim will be sent to continue to oversee and repair the damage."

Roselyn sighed, her shoulders dropping. A look of relief glimmered across her face. "I'm pleased you--" Her eyes widened a fraction. "Th-that no one was injured. That no blood was spilled."

"So am I."

"My mother was frantic in the carriage back." Roselyn told him. Her mouth quirked to one side when she smiled. He found himself watching her lips form her words. "I think she thought the elves were attacking her personally. She does like to make a fuss."

Alistair gave a soft chuckle, leaning over enough to see Roselyn's words on the pages laid out before her. "What are you writing?"

She glanced at it and quickly covered the words with a spare sheet. "Just a letter to my brother. Telling him what I've been up to." Her tone turned more defensive. Alistair decided not to push the subject and instead sat down on the chair beside her.

He felt a little giddy, being so close and without a chaperone to watch them and keep them at the specific distance. He could feel Roselyn's warmth through her thin clothes. That he could reach out and take her hand made his skin tingle, and a shudder of excited anticipation ripple over him.

"May I ask," Roselyn broke the silence that had fallen between them, "about today?"

He perched his chin on his fist, his elbow on the table. "What about it?" Alistair smiled, he liked that she looked at him when she spoke. She didn't drop her gaze or appear feeble and weak. She was as steady and assured as Anora.

"As I understand, the welfare of the elves is your brother's duty, correct?" Alistair nodded. "I'm curious, if their welfare was your responsibility, what would you do?"

"Me?" He managed to keep his mouth from falling open at the bluntness of her question. To even consider him taking Cailan's duties came close to treason. "I wouldn't be so impertinent to put myself in my brother's place."

"Hypothetically speaking," countered Roselyn without hesitating, as if she had planned on what he would say. "If you were hypothetically the heir to the throne with all of Cailan's duties and responsibilities, how would you approach the subject of the city elves?"

Growing uneasy, Alistair got up from his chair. He ruffled his hand through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. "I wouldn't," he stated, pacing back a few steps. "What you're putting forward is sedition." He rounded on Roselyn who was also standing.

"We're discussing a hypothetical situation, not planning a coup," she remarked. "How is that akin to sedition?"

"Because imagining harm to any member of the royal family, _especially_ the King or heir to the throne can be considered as plotting or tempting fate," he explained to her, words coming out in a rushed and harsh whisper. He had learned from a young age that the walls had ears. Words spoken in private could somehow find their way to ears they were not meant for. "I like my head where it is." He began to walk towards the doors, eager to leave the conversation.

"Who said anything about harm?" demanded Roselyn.

"I don't know why you're asking anyway."

"Because I find the way someone deals with the less fortunate very telling of their character, Alistair." He stopped at the sudden use of his name. He was half-way between the door and the table where Roselyn was still standing one hand on the table. He faced her, schooling his expression to betray nothing. She too, had a still face, eyes on his but no other telling traits. "I wanted to know what you would have done to avoid what happened today."

"You said my name."

"Yes."

"That's the first time you've said my name."

Roselyn scoffed. "No, it's not."

"It is." Alistair smiled, seeing colour rise in her cheeks at being caught speaking to him in such an informal way. "You called me Alistair."

"Don't make it out to be more than it is." Roselyn remarked, crossing her arms. "It just... slipped out."

"I like it."

"You're avoiding the question."

He stepped towards her, closing the space between them in a few strides. "Call me Alistair again," he bargained, reaching for her hands and holding her fingers in his. "And I'll answer your question."

"Of all the..." Roselyn rolled her eyes, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. Alistair felt her apply a little pressure where she returned his hold. "Alistair," her mouth quirked to one side as she peered up at him. He grinned, rocking on his feet. "Please tell me what you would have done differently, Alistair."

He was positively beaming at  the second utterance of his name. He opened the scrolls he had been carrying, full of his jumbled thoughts and drawings. "Here." He directed her attention to them, pointing at one. "First I'd get supplies in. We have good trade with Orzammar for stone which is stronger for roofing and would be better to withstand some of the winter weather. And we have other merchants and steady trade coming in from the Free Marches and Orlais. They have good, strong trees there that could build up the houses. I'd speak to the elves, get their view on what they wanted. If they just wanted repairs, or if they would like things to change. More space, better housing."

"Did you draw these?" Roselyn asked, picking up one scroll and examining his sketches of a two-story building.

"Yes." Alistair scratched his head. "They're not very good. I mean, they're very--"

"Alistair, these are wonderful. Clever and inventive." Roselyn squinted at the drawings. Alistair flushed hot under his clothes and was grateful for the dim lighting. "They're houses built one on top of the other, yes?"

"Exactly." He took the scroll to explain, "A stairwell around the back allows access for the family living upstairs. There are separate rooms that are sturdy but well ventilated. And they're affordable to make. It would make their living conditions better. Families could live there."

Roselyn picked up another scroll, "what's this one?"

"A clinic." He pointed to his chicken scratch short hand. "I know the city elves have their own healers, but I thought what about bringing in mages from the Circle to heal and teach other basic medical training in case of emergencies."

"You would propose taking mages from the Circle?" Roselyn lifted both eyebrows.

"I know, I know. It's a bit radical." He continued, "but I don't believe anyone should be cooped up in a place and feared. Do you? Things need to change."

"I agree on that." Roselyn pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Thedas is changing, moving forward. And, forgive me for saying so, but your father and Cailan seem rather... reticent to embrace change."

Alistair shrugged. "My father was the King Ferelden needed during the war and occupation of Orlais. Now that it's peaceful, he's bored. He was born to be a warrior. Not a ruler."

"And what were you and Cailan born to be?"

"The heir and the spare?" He laughed in spite of himself, leaning on the table. "I'm just here in case my brother goes missing. I don't know what I'll be when he becomes King."

Roselyn reached over to give his hand a supportive caress. "I'm certain you will be something great." Her smile caught him off guard in his softness and sincerity. The candle light reflected in her grey eyes making her look like something from a dream.

Smoothing his thumb across her hand, Alistair felt himself inching towards her. His chest constricted around his lungs, making him breathe faster. His skin grew warm, his nerves trembling just beneath the surface. He brought his free hand up, tracing the back of his fingers down Roselyn's cheek and then cupping her jaw with unknown boldness. She leaned into his palm, dropping her gaze almost shyly.

"I..." Alistair's voice caught, "I would-- That is to say I... I would-- _May_ I... uhm- k-kiss you?" He breathed, his voice shuddering. "Would that..." he glanced at the floor. "I mean would-- would you...?"

"You may kiss me," she nodded, giggling. "If you like."

He nudged forward timidly. His stomach clenched with the anticipation flooding his body. His lips began to tingle at the sensation of her breath landing on them. Roselyn's eyes slid closed, Alistair angled his head to avoid bumping noses. An inch more--

The door slammed back against the wall and the two of them jumped apart.

Roo was up on her feet, growling at the intruder in the shadows.

Alistair recognised the silhouette lurching in the doorway. The warmth of his body was replaced by ice racing through his veins. He stepped in front of Roselyn without hesitation intent on using his body as a barrier if need be.

"Lady Roselyn," King Maric grumbled, "half the palace is up looking for you."

Roselyn dropped into a brief curtsey. "I apologise, Your Majesty. I had no intention to cause alarm. I was only writing to my brother." She began to gather her things, including Alistair's scrolls and drawings.

Maric walked towards them, towering even when drunk and unsteady on his feet. Alistair had seen his father drink many people under the table. "Get along to your chambers, my lady. Before you cause any more mischief."

Roselyn bobbed her head at Maric and then Alistair. "Goodnight Your Majesty. Goodnight Alis-- Your Highness."

She fled from the library, Roo behind her. Alistair saw her peek around the door as she closed it her expression drawn into one of concern as she looked at him. He shook his head in silence offering a small smile he hoped would assuage her worries.

Once she was gone, Alistair steeled himself with a deep breath. He knew his father's moods when he was drunk and if Cailan was not around then he would be the subject of his ire.

His father's mouth was drawn into a frown as he stood opposite Alistair. His eyes bloodshot, his hair a dishevelled mess, his clothes and his breath reeked of Dwarven whisky. Strong stuff. Clearly the day's events had taken their toll.

"I overheard your conversation." Maric began, speaking with clarity Alistair found surprising. "Planning on supplanting your brother and me, eh?"

"No--"

"Don't back talk me, boy!" Barked Maric, his temper flaring. Alistair closed his mouth; he knew better than to incite his father's wrath. "I know Cailan is a wastrel, but he's my son and heir. Your future King." He grasped Alistair's shoulders in strong hands and held tight, digging his fingers into Alistair's skin through his clothes. "Don't let that little Highever girl fill your head with delusions of grandeur. You will _never_ be King."

"I don't want to be King." Alistair clenched his jaw. "We were talking hypothetically. She was asking about the plight of the elves in the Alienage."

"Hmph." Maric snorted, "should leave those things to her betters." He grunted. "All you and she need focus on is getting a baby in her belly."

Alistair blanched at the bluntess of the statement. "Your Ma--

Maric held gripped Alistair's shoulders tighter and stood to his full height. "You are likely the last hope for an heir my line has." He explained sobering a little. Alistair tried to ignore the stink of his father's breath so close. "Anora is barren, all of Ferelden knows it, and your brother..." Maric sucked his teeth, "he's probably the one who caused her barrenness with his whores and wenches. But you, boy." He slapped Alistair on the shoulder, "you're a good one. You get a baby on the girl and we'll have a secure line."

"I know, Your Majesty." Alistair said wanting to appease his father and get away from him as quick as he was able.

Maric sniffed and peered at him through his drunken haze. Alistair held himself still as Maric pressed his forehead to his. "You're so much like your mother, Alistair." Sighed Maric, a moment of sentimental calm seeping through his inebriated stupor. "Wish she could have seen you grow up."

Alistair clenched his hands at his sides and swallowed. He stayed silent, squeezed his eyes shut and willed the time to go quicker.

"You're a good boy, Alistair." Maric huffed, ruffling his large hand through his hair. "Go on, be off with you." He gave him a strong shove towards the door. Alistair watched his father sink down into one of the library chairs and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and thoughts on the previous chapters.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter too! Let me know what you think! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roselyn learns more of Anora's life before she arrived and demonstrates to Alistair the correct way to shoot a bow. Alistair imparts on her some sensitive truths his father would disapprove of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen Who are lovely, jubbly manatees. [That's a good thing!]
> 
> \- Chapter Rating: T

_Cloudreach. One month until the wedding._

_\--_

Roselyn stared at her reflection in the mirrors erected around her. She stood on a stool a foot off the ground so the hem of her dress could be tucked up and pinned to the proper length by the seamstresses who bustled around her.

This was the first time she was seeing herself in what would be her wedding dress. It was almost finished except for a few minor details and Roselyn was astounded by it. No one ever asked her opinion on what sort of dress she wanted to wear, so she dreaded every fitting. Each time she felt less and less like a bride and more like a beast lost in yards of tulle and lace.

But today she saw the work of the dressmakers and seamstresses and what it had been building up to. She realized that her worries were unfounded and that, minus the pins, the dress was beautiful. The base was a heavy ivory coloured dull satin with layers of chiffon under the skirt, making it flare out at Roselyn's hips. It cut straight across her chest just below her collar bone, drawing attention to her slim shoulders and her neck. A layer of lace was sewn over the main dress and it sat across her shoulders with sleeves that ended at the elbow. Throughout the lace were delicate pearls and diamonds all individually sewn into place which caught the light making her gown practically shimmer when Roselyn moved. While it was a heavy gown to walk in, Roselyn felt like a giddy little girl looking at herself and almost didn't want to take it off.

"What do you think?" Roselyn asked Anora, who was sitting on a seat close by reading.

She closed the pages around one of her fingers to keep her place and looked over Roselyn with an arched brow. "It's lovely," she remarked, her lips quirking. "Very pretty."

"Do you think Alistair will like it?"

"That's his Highness," Eleanor interjected coming towards the mirrors and Roselyn armed with a pin cushion. "You know better than to call him by his first name."

Rolling her eyes, Roselyn tugged away from Eleanor's hands as she pulled on her sleeves, lowering the neckline of her dress. "Its fine, Mother."

She saw her mother pinch her lips between her teeth. She lifted her hands away, leaving Roselyn's sleeve as it was and thrust the pin cushion at one of the seamstresses before sitting down in a chair beside Anora and retrieving her embroidery ring from a small table.

"Honestly, the fact the two of you were alone..." muttered Eleanor.

"Not this again," sighed Roselyn, rolling her head along her shoulders to ease out the ache in her neck which had started to pulse. "Mother, we talked."

"The King said he almost kissed you," snapped Eleanor, sharp eyes glaring up from beneath furrowed brows. Roselyn pretended to ignore the rush of heat which swept up her chest and neck, staining her face.

She remembered the evening in the library where she and Alistair had been able to speak candidly for the first time. No chaperone, no guards or people listening in and making sure they behaved. Just them, their honesty, the thoughts they had shared. She thought to the drawings he had shown her, which were tucked safely away in her desk. She took them in order to protect them from Maric, worried that he would rip them apart if he saw them, .

She remembered the closeness. Alistair's hands in hers, the thrill of skin-to-skin contact which they were so rarely allowed. She recalled him brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, the smell of him as he drew nearer, earthy and deep. A good smell. A strong smell. She remembered her fear of being kissed, of being caught had disappeared, and how she had wanted him to kiss her. When she shut her eyes and imagined the moment, she could still feel the heavy thud of her heart and the excited twist of her stomach. The shudder of anticipation which had rippled over her from her lips and throughout her body.

Roselyn gave an involuntary shiver and quickly squared her grey eyes on her face in the mirror. She caught a glimpse of a smirk on Anora's lips. She knew what Roselyn was thinking of. She probably still remembered the heady delight of it all.

"He didn't kiss me," Roselyn said finally, taking a breath to steady herself. "We were just talking. The King was drunk. He probably would have seen a dragon in his state."

"Do not be so flippant," Eleanor hissed, slamming her sewing down into her lap. Roselyn snapped her head to look down at her mother. Anora was no longer reading her book, her eyes fixed on her page but not moving. "If you do anything -  _anything -_ that the King does not approve of you'll be branded a harlot and this whole marriage will terminated before the day. We'll be laughing stocks."

"How can I be branded a harlot if I don't do anything?" asked Roselyn. She tried to cross her arms but the fabric of her dress had been pinned so tight her movement was restricted. "We were talking. He was showing me drawings, ideas for how to make the Alienage more liveable for the elves."

"The elves," snorted Eleanor. "They would have killed us had the King not been there."

"Cailan started it."

"That elf girl started it," retorted Eleanor. "That she wasn't thrown in the stocks and made an example of amazes me."

"Maybe the King thought she had a good point in her complaints," suggested Roselyn, lifting one arm as one of the seamstresses asked her to. "We all saw firsthand on the visit that the elves are living as no one should have to. They need help."

"That's not our business," her mother started sewing again, pushing the point of her needle through the pattern and drawing the thread through slowly. "And certainly not yours. Yours is to be on your best behaviour until you're married."

"And after?" Roselyn arched a brow.

"Afterwards you need to concentrate on getting pregnant," she replied with thoughtless calm. Roselyn noticed Anora's expression freeze. "Get pregnant, have a child, secure an heir," continued Eleanor, snorting softly. "Someone needs to."

Closing her book, Anora got to her feet with all the grace Roselyn had come to expect from her. Her face was clear, unreadable, her eyes level and hard. "Excuse me." She placed the book on the table and walked with quick but steady steps out of the Roselyn's bed chamber to the reception area which split off to the other rooms.

"Mother!" Roselyn snarled and stepped down off the stool.

"Roselyn, get back-"

"Shut up, Mother," Roselyn snapped marching past her and beyond the slatted screen which hid them from view in case anyone happened to enter.

Lifting her dress so she didn't trip, Roselyn marched through the different rooms until she found Anora sitting in the window seat of the last one, the one supposedly used for dining which Roselyn had yet to make any use of. It overlooked the gardens and Roselyn found it a nice place to sit and ignore the goings on around her while her mother and the ladies she had selected gobbled and clucked like chickens.

Roo sat at Anora's feet, her chin on the older woman's knee. Anora had one hand on the hounds head, stroking one of her ears between her fingers. Her gaze was focused outside and though she showed no outside signs of being upset at Eleanor's words, Roselyn felt a sense of sadness rolling off of her in waves.

She approached tentatively and placed a hand on Anora's shoulder when she reached her. Anora wrapped her fingers around Roselyn's squeezed briefly and looked at her. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry about my mother." Roselyn sat opposite her in the seat, gathering the heavy fabric around her. "She can be thoughtless."

"It's all right," Anora assured her, patting the back of Roselyn's hand. "I don't mind."

"It's not alright," argued Roselyn. "She's so... She doesn't think about other people. All she cares about is herself and that this marriage goes through." She wriggled, uncomfortable where a pin was pricking into her skin.

"Mothers are like that." Anora sighed, a brief smile touching her lips. "They want what's best for their children. I would."

Roselyn's gaze softened as she watched Anora staring out of the window. There was nothing there, nothing to see, just the gardeners and the workers for the palace going about their daily business, but Anora was far away, seeing something that Roselyn could only imagine. Perhaps a life Anora pictured long before Roselyn met her; a life very different from what it was now.

Roselyn reached for Anora's hands and held them in hers. "There's still time, you know." She tried to be supportive, smiling up at the woman she had come to rely on to safely guide her through the intricacies of life in Denerim and in King Maric's court. "You could still have a family."

Anora retracted her hands. "It's a nice thought, but it won't happen."

"Why?" Roselyn cocked her head to one side. "You're young. Cailan seems... capable?"

"Oh, he is." Anora's laugh was short and bitter. "But not with me." She treated Roselyn to a level stare. "He comes to me maybe once a month. If that. To..." She gestured to elaborate without needing words. Roselyn lifted both eyebrows, understanding her meaning. "And he no longer sleeps in my bed. Nor I in his."

Puzzled, Roselyn nibbled her bottom lip for a moment before speaking. "You don't share the same bed? The same room?"

"Maker, no." Anora laughed again, "How would he see his mistresses if I was there with him?" She chuckled softly through her nose. "No, we haven't shared a bed all night or a room for a long time." She grew silent and leaned back against the dark wood panelling which surrounded the window seat. Roselyn said nothing, unable to think of anything to say. She could not comfort her or offer suggestions. She had no experience with married life or how to change things so Cailan's interests returned to where they should have always been. "It's funny." Anora said after a pregnant pause making Roselyn jump.

"What is?"

"We were happy in the beginning. We were in love," she spoke wistfully. Roselyn could almost see Anora recalling the memories of the early days of her marriage. "He was dashing and charming... he swept me off my feet. Which is funny, considering I grew up beside him and almost always found him insufferable."

"Cailan insufferable," Roselyn muttered. "Imagine that."

Anora gave a small wicked grin. "He was so arrogant and stubborn. Childish and spoiled in so many ways. Maric always gave Cailan whatever he wanted, especially after Queen Rowan died. Cailan always had to be right..." stated Anora, pointing her finger at her reflection in the glass as if telling herself off. "If he wasn't, he would throw such a tantrum. I was always shouting at him and calling him names, telling him to grow up. I used to run circles around him. He would follow me around like a love sick dog and I would kick him away every time."

"Sounds like you impressed him," Roselyn said, leaning her head against the window and watching Anora's faraway look. She wore a misty eyed expression she had never seen on her before, a the slight flush to her cheeks.

"I think I did. I was one of the few people who was never taken in by his charm or his wit. I saw through it all..." She looked at Roselyn. "I still do."

"What happened?"

"We had been promised since childhood and grew up together. Like you, I was very reluctant to marry this boy who I saw as little more than a fool. He went away on a summer tour with his father when he was sixteen. A gangly youth all long limbs and all the signs of adolescence. Just a boy, not a prince." Anora twisted a strand of hair back behind her ears, smirking to herself. "When he came back in the autumn, he was a man. He'd turned seventeen. Filled out, developed muscle and a confidence he hadn't had before. No showmanship, just... confidence. He was different. He treated me differently. Suddenly he was courting me. Really courting me. Sending me flowers, riding out with me, walking with me. He would shirk his duties to spend time with me..."

"He sounds so different," Roselyn said, and then smiled a little. "You sound like you were very taken with him."

"I was," Anora nodded with a smile that made her eyes light up. "I thought myself the luckiest woman in all of Thedas when we were married. I thought marriage would be easy, but..." She trailed, and stared down at her hands. "Things changed so quickly. We would argue. Disagree. We were spending more nights apart than together and the constant badgering about whether I was pregnant... it made the mere idea of sex with him abhorrent to me."

"Why?"

"I had gone from a woman who had opinions and thoughts that were valued to a royal baby maker," Anora explained bluntly. "I hated that my identity had been taken from me. Any power I had was removed. I was no longer Anora Mac Tir. I became Anora, Cailan's wife. Every month for that first year I was asked if I had missed my courses. My sheets were inspected. My measurements taken every week in case I was growing. Gossip followed me wherever I went. I was reduced to nothing but whispers and hearsay. And it was never Cailan who was at fault for there being no baby that month. It was always mine."

Roselyn took hold of Anora's hands again and squeezed. "Anora, calm down," she hushed her, glancing across the rooms at the ladies who were pretending to sew or read. "Remember what you told me? That the King has people here?"

Anora took a deliberate breath, slow through her nose, closing her eyes to focus. "I know," she said once she had calmed. Meeting Roselyn's gaze, she continued. "After that first year and no child, the gossip became malicious. I heard rumours that people thought I wasn't fit to bear children. That the Maker had cursed me with barrenness. That I had cuckolded Cailan somehow. That I was so repulsive he could not bring himself to do the deed."

Roselyn covered her mouth, failing to hide her disgust. "That's a revolting thing to say."

"And false," added Anora. She sighed, her shoulders dropping. "Not that it matters any more. The court made their mind up about me a long time ago. It's up to you and Alistair to produce an heir now."

"Don't you... want... children?" Roselyn asked very slowly, almost wincing as she finished her sentence.

"I did once." Anora shrugged. "But that was a young, inexperienced woman. Now I just want to see Ferelden prosper. And I can do that once Cailan is on the throne and needs my expertise where he falls short. I can speak to the Landsmeet and the council on his behalf. Queen Rowan used to sit in council with King Maric before she died. I intend to put that back into practice once Cailan is King."

"Rule from behind the throne?"

"The word is, behind every strong man is a stronger woman."

"And you are probably stronger than most."

Anora smiled, a little putting Roselyn's worries at ease and the two fell into a companionable silence watching the comings and goings below Roselyn's room.

Roselyn found her mind wandering. She wondered if her life would be reduced to what Anora's was after she and Alistair were married. If she would be pestered and hounded daily for any news of a baby. If Alistair was doing his duties as a husband. If she was doing hers as a wife and 'royal baby maker' as Anora put it.

She worried what the outcome would be if she didn't produce a child within a year. Would Alistair become like Cailan? Willingly taking mistresses and abandoning her bed for that of other women? Would he become repulsed by her? Would people gossip and mutter about her behind her back and pretend to be her friend to her face? Would those closest to Alistair make plots to remove her from the picture if she couldn't fulfil her duties?

Pushing her fingers through her hair she fought the sting of worry biting at her mind. She hoped Alistair would not forsake her if she didn't fall pregnant right away. He seemed too kind to do something so callous, but if he was pushed... She wasn't sure what he would do. She didn't want to think about it, but now Anora had spoken about her experience, her mind could focus on little else.

What if she failed in the one thing both families wanted from her? There wouldn't be room in the royal family for two women unable to produce heirs. Anora was still married to Cailan because of the long friendship between Maric and her father, Loghain. When Maric died what would become of Anora then? Would she be tossed aside and replaced? Would Roselyn fall to the same fate if she could not do what was being placed on her shoulders. She suddenly felt sick with and gulped down mouthfuls of air to quell the tempest of anxiety swelling and swirling within her belly.

A quick knock at the door caught the attention those close enough to hear it. Anora was up first and crossed to answer while Roselyn returned to her bed chamber and stepped onto the stool for her fitting to continue. When Anora reappeared she was carrying a folded note with a dark pink rose tucked inside it, only partly bloomed. She smiled knowingly passing both items to Roselyn.

"What's that?" asked Eleanor, trying to reach for the paper. Roselyn snatched it safely out of her grasp, smoothing the flower across her cheek while reading the words inside.

 _"Are you free to go riding this afternoon? I have a surprise for you! I think you'll like it._  
_Alistair._  
_PS. The roses are starting to bloom again. I think you'll still be the most beautiful one here though."_

"What should I tell him?" Anora asked, taking the rose from Roselyn's fingers.

Roselyn read the note again, unable to conceal her grin. "Tell him that I accept his invitation and look forward to it." She passed the note to Anora too, knowing she would put it safely with the others where Eleanor would not find them.

As Anora went to deliver Roselyn's reply, Eleanor looked between the two of them with growing suspicion. "What's going on?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing that concerns you, Mother," sighed Roselyn, pleased. She ruffled her hands through her hair. "Nothing that concerns you."

* * *

Alistair was already saddled and mounted on his destrier when Roselyn arrived in the stable yard with Anora. Her own hunter, a gift from Maric, was hitched to a posted ready for her, the only horse without a rider. Around him were six men all on horseback, adjusting their stirrups and saddles. Their guard and chaperones for the afternoon.

When she first arrived he was forced to do a double-take. He was used to seeing her in fine gowns and dresses with full skirts made with rich fabrics. When they had ridden out before she had ridden in her decadent clothing despite the risk of it getting ripped or stained. Today, instead of a dress, Roselyn wore tan leather buckskin breeches which followed every soft, sensual curve of her body. Her leather riding boots reached her knee and her long-sleeved sea green tunic was cinched at the waist with a belt, covered with a riding coat. Even her hair, which Alistair was accustomed to seeing either down or tucked up and decorated somehow, was pulled into a high-ponytail.

Unable to draw his gaze away, he watched her mount her horse and adjust the straps of the girth and the stirrups to better suit her needs. This was the first time he was seeing her without any cumbersome layers. He found himself following the swell of her backside as she moved in the saddle and appreciating the curve of her hip and thigh with his eyes.

Noticing Anora watching him with a small grin playing on her lips, Alistair tore his eyes away from Roselyn's body and cleared his throat. He blushed at being caught, his cheeks burning and his ears feeling like they were singed.

"Were you admiring something, Alistair?" teased Anora, pursing her lips and shaking her head.

"Just... the view," Alistair muttered rolling his eyes at his response. If possible, Anora's smile increased and he felt his stomach clench at the way Roselyn glanced between the pair of them, the joke lost on her. "You aren't riding out with us?" Alistair asked his sister-in-law conversationally.

"Not today," Anora told him, "I have things to do here. I'm sure the two of you will be fine without me."

"Where are we going?" Roselyn asked Alistair once she had her stirrups and girth buckled and set. Her hair fell over one shoulder when she tilted her head, guiding her horse around the stable yard on a long rein.

Alistair's mouth curved into a secretive smile. "Not far. What I have planned might be a little too dangerous to do in the grounds of the palace. That's all."

"Dangerous?" Roselyn lifted both eyebrows and glanced at Anora who shrugged. "How mysterious!"

"That's me," Alistair laughed, steering his destrier towards the gates. "I like to keep people guessing."

With a final goodbye, Roselyn followed him out of the gate and the small troupe of guards accompanied them, trailing behind.

Alistair led the way out of the stables and out of the grounds of the palace out towards the open fields and woodland. Once they were on softer ground, he urged his horse into a gallop, earth spraying up behind him. On previous rides Roselyn showed herself to be as accomplished a rider as he and enjoyed the speed the horses could go when they were given the chance.

He heard the guards call for him as his horse took off, racing over the ground. Their voices were lost in the sound of the wind whipping past his ears, stinging his eyes and cheeks. The beats of his horses hooves were joined by another set, Roselyn riding close by, bent over the withers and neck of her hunter in the effort to give more speed. Before her dresses had prevented her from being able to properly let loose. Now she lost the demure quiet look she often wore when riding.

She grinned, her hands wrapped in her horse's mane for a better grip. Her hair flew out behind her and she glanced across to Alistair, grey eyes narrowed against the sting of the air. His stomach clenched, he dug his heels into the sides of his horse pushing on its speed. She mimicked him, regaining ground.

Roselyn always stayed a little behind him, following as Alistair led their chase. The trail they took went through fields bursting with colour. Golden rapeseed, carpets of deep magenta clovers, bluebells and wildflowers in rich oranges, reds, and pinks; all in full bloom, their aroma mixing with the scent of the earth the hooves of their horses churned up.

Bringing his destrier to a slower pace and then to a walk at the top of a sloping hill, Alistair settled back comfortably in his saddle and dropped his feet from his stirrups to let them hang long. His horse was lathered, sweating and breathing hard while tossing its head from side-to-side, still eager to go. Roselyn joined him a few seconds later and gave her horse a long rein to relax.

"Over there." Alistair pointed into the distance, grinning foolishly. Roselyn followed his arm and pointer finger to where he was indicating. Not far away on the edge of a copse of trees a pair of straw archery butts on wooden stands had been set up. Standing with them to keep a look out were two servants from the palace.

"Archery butts?" Roselyn questioned, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Yes." Alistair dropped his hand as his horse walked at a leisurely pace towards their destination. "I thought you, being an expert archer, could help me with my archery skills."

Roselyn's eyes lit up at the prospect. "Why all the way out here?"

"I'm less likely to hurt someone out here if I misfire."

"Are you that bad?" she laughed. Alistair noticed the wind had stained her cheeks a bright shade of pink and there were smears of mud on her face.

"I am  _that_  bad," he assured her. The look she gave him was shrewd and came from beneath her brows. "I promise you, I really am," he insisted, "You'll see."

The servants took hold of the reins of their horses when they arrived at their location. Alistair climbed out of his saddle first and almost ran around to help Roselyn out of hers. He was certain she could dismount without his help, but liked to believe she enjoyed the brief closeness they both experienced when he helped her down just as he did. A moment of intimacy where he held her slim waist and she braced her hands on his shoulders; allowing their bodies to slide against each other, granting them the briefest second where their faces could almost touch. Where their lips could almost brush, but didn't.

The guards who accompanied them all climbed off their horses once they were together and one by one the horses were relieved of their saddles and left to wander close by. Some chose to roll around in the grass. Others went to graze or stand under the trees.

Alistair had arranged the targets to be moved up into the fields with plentiful arrows and some food sent ahead from the kitchens - dried salted meats and fish, spiced bread, freshly baked that morning, skins of sweet Antivan wine, and ale from Orzammar. Alistair encouraged the guards to partake in the food while he joined Roselyn at the targets.

She stood at least thirty metres from the archery butts with a recurve long bow in one hand as she nocked an arrow with the other. He noticed at least ten more arrows where sticking up from the ground, their fletching facing the sky. He watched her lift the bow and position herself. She drew the arrow back in a fluid motion. Alistair heard her inhale and a moment later she loosed the arrow with a whoosh. It met its mark on the target, a little off centre.

Roselyn turned to him, dropping her bow arm. "Your turn."

Alistair retrieved a second bow from the ground and a quiver of arrows. "Don't laugh," he said, nocking an arrow to the bow string.

"I make no promises," Roselyn teased, crossing her left arm over her chest and grasping the top of her right arm with her hand.

"That's comforting," Alistair retorted playfully. He pursed his lips, lifting the bow to take the same stance he had always been taught.

Archery was the one thing neither he nor Cailan had ever been good at. They were both taught since childhood, but their grasp of the blade was far quicker and more natural for the both of them. Archery took concentration, focus, and timing. A certain finesse was required to fire a bow and to hit a target every time.

Before he had even anchored his arrow he heard Roselyn stifling her laughter and dropped his bow arm to look at her. "What?"

"Your stance." She grinned, making the dimples Alistair was coming to adore appear in her cheeks.

"What about it?"

"It's..." For a moment she struggled to find a word. She licked her lips and took up her own position drawing the bow string without an arrow. "See how I'm standing?"

Alistair leaned back to both examine and admire her. She stood side face with her body angled toward the woods, but her head was turned and her chin was in line with her bow arm, which was outstretched in the direction of the targets. Her shoulders were down, level. Nothing about her body was tight or looked uncomfortable. Where Alistair looked natural wielding a sword and shield, Roselyn looked as though the bow should have been an extension of herself.

Plucking an arrow from the ground, he passed it to her. "Show me with an arrow?"

He watched her slide it into place, how her index finger rested above the nock and the arrow lay against her other fingers below as she drew back the bow string. He noticed she touched the corner of her mouth with her thumb, drawing her lips back as she inhaled. She stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the target while holding the string tight.

"I see." Alistair pursed his lips, wandering behind her. He hoped his gaze was as discerning as he was trying to make it as it lingered and roved over her. He stepped up behind her, a small gap between their bodies but close enough to feel the warmth of her and to smell the fragrance of her hair - rich saffron and something like cinnamon.

Roselyn stepped onto her back foot, brushing against him for the briefest moment. Alistair felt his throat almost close and gulped thickly in an attempt to find his voice and the ability to take normal, steady breaths. His legs and feet felt weighed down with metal. His stomach knotted, unknotted, tangled, and wrapped around itself the longer they stood so close. He rubbed his palms on his breeches yet was unable to shake the sweaty feeling from them.

"Mimic my arms, you'll get a better idea," Roselyn suggested glancing over her shoulder. For a moment her grey eyes met his, only to disappear under fluttering eyelashes with coyness that made Alistair's chest grow tight.

He lifted his hands, clenching his fingers to stop them trembling. He placed his left hand on her shoulder, following the length of her arm down. He felt her muscles, tight and controlled under her clothing. The subtle bend in her elbow where his fingers tickled. He slid his hand around hers, the both of them grasping the bow, the shaft of the arrow resting atop both their hands. His right arm curved around her shoulders and came to rest with hers, the arrow nocked between their fingers as they pulled the bow string in unison.

Roselyn's back pressed close into Alistair's chest and he hoped his heart beat wasn't as obvious to her as it was to him; shuddering behind his rib cage, rattling and thudding like it was trying to break out of its bony prison. He matched his breaths with hers. Slow in... hold... slow out. She shuffled.  _Slow in... hold... slow out._

"Keep your back straight," Roselyn told him. "Keep both eyes on the target. Look at where you want the arrow to go, not at the arrow itself." She turned her head slightly more, her mouth open a touch, lips a little puckered, pink and so tempting. Heat flooded Alistair's cheeks when he realised he was staring at them and leaning close to her. His head inclined toward hers, close enough that if he moved a few inches more he could kiss her.

Roselyn seemed to notice too. Her skin darkened to scarlet suddenly. She turned her focus back to the archery butts and her breathing, which had stopped, resumed with hurried intensity.

Without warning she loosed the arrow. They both watched it fly wide of the target and disappear beyond the high grass as it began to fall back to earth.

"Well..." Alistair stood up straight and put his hands on his hips.

"That was your fault," Roselyn stated, lifting her chin.

"My fault?" scoffed Alistair. "I thought you said you were good at this." She narrowed her eyes at him placed an arrow against her bowstring, pulled back, and released. The thud of the arrow hitting the target dead centre echoed for a second or two. Alistair's face dropped. "Alright. Show off."

An hour later Alistair felt like he was beginning to make some improvement. The lesson came to a sudden halt when dark clouds rolled across the sky and opened, unleashing a heavy downpour. Roselyn and Alistair fled for the cover of the trees at the edge of the copse. The guards and servants did the same after gathering up the horses and saddles out of the rain.

Alistair lifted his riding coat up over his head and held the draping lapel out over Roselyn. For a while they stood in silence, listening to the sound of rain droplets hitting the leaves above them, the soft whicker of the horses, and the low conversation of their company.

"So, why did you  _really_  ask me here?" Roselyn inquired fiddling with the fletching at the end of an arrow.

Alistair glance down at her head. "What do you mean?" He blushed, his ears stinging.

"We could have done archery at the palace," she explained, lifting her eyes to his. "Even with your terrible aim, it would have been safe." A smirk tugged her lips. Alistair managed not to pout. The curve in her mouth disappeared, her expression growing more serious. "What's going on?"

Stepping closer to provide her more shelter, Alistair tried to pretend the cold shudder that ran down his spine and through his body was caused by stray droplets sliding down his back and his collar. He stared at the grass and then at the beads of water on his boots, searching for the words to begin. His father would murder him if he knew Alistair's plan - what information he was going to divulge. It was a closely guarded secret; only select members of the royal family knew of it and it was never supposed to be spoken about. Maric ordered Alistair to keep silent, but the truth gnawed at Alistair's conscience every night. He hated lying. He hated concealing the truth, and he wanted Roselyn to know as much as she could know about him before they were married. He didn't want to begin a life with someone he was starting to care for and have it based on falsehoods and hidden truths.

"Alistair?" Roselyn's fingers brushed his face, jerking him from his thoughts. She was standing before him with honest, worried eyes. While he knew her eyes were grey, this was the first time he observed the flecks of green within them. "What's wrong?"

She trailed her fingers down across his cheeks, brushing his lips with the faintest of touches. He puckered his lips against her caress, a blush sweeping up his neck.

"I'm trying to think of how to tell you this..." He said, forcing a long breath out of his nose. "I don't really know where to begin."

"Take all the time you need." Roselyn assured him kindly.

He stared at a droplet of water, focusing on it trailing down the side of her neck until it disappeared beneath the collar of her tunic. "Honesty is important, isn't it?" he asked. "I-i-in a marriage, I mean."

"I think so," nodded Roselyn, clasping her hands behind her back. "Honesty, trust, love, respect. They're all important."

"Right. Good." A little breathless chuckle tumbled out of his mouth. The tips of his ears were burning hot. "The reason I ask is... is because... well... even though this whole m-marriage is you know, arranged, I still think there shouldn't be any secrets."

"Alright..."

"Well," he puffed his cheeks up, lifted his eyes skyward for a moment. "Well, the... the thing is..." Alistair shifted his weight from one hip to the other. "The thing is... uhm..." He dropped his head to meet her eyes. "I'm a bastard," he blurted out, fighting the urge to clench his eyes closed and trying to ignore the tossing and turning sensation within his stomach. Every possible outcome whirled in his mind. He imagined she would be appalled and that by telling her the truth he ruined any chance of a happy future. But she needed to know; he would never have felt right going into their wedding without her knowing the truth.

For several seconds, Roselyn simply stared at him. Dumbstruck. Eyes big and wide with rain drops clinging to her eyelashes. Alistair's limbs grew cold, his fingertips freezing in place where he held his riding jacket up for protection.

"You're..." Roselyn spoke after several tense seconds. "A bastard?"

"Yes," he almost barked at her but managed to control his voice. "Yes, I'm a... a royal bastard. Maric  _is_  my father, but Queen Rowan wasn't my mother."

Her lips twitched at one corner and she squinted up at him as if trying to see if she recognised in his face any features of his true parentage. Tilting her head this way and that, Roselyn tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She obscured the top half of his face with her hand and then the bottom half, the delicate features of her face growing more into a frown as time drew on.

"My mother was an elf," Alistair explained, speaking hurriedly in an attempt to get his words out before Roselyn could say anything. "She was a serving girl in Redcliffe. She and my father had an... encounter when he stayed with my uncle, Eamon, once and I was the result."

Roselyn leaned back on the trunk of a tree. Alistair followed, covering her with his jacket. "I'm listening."

"Maric knew about me. He always did, but he never wanted me. I was an accident. Shouldn't have happened," Alistair elaborated, taking a long breath in an attempt to ground himself and settle his gnawing fears. "When Queen Rowan died leaving Cailan as the only heir to the throne, Mar- my father panicked. Cailan was young, a lot could happen to a young Prince. He could get sick and die, be killed while out riding, be kidnapped. He needed a spare and I was the perfect candidate. I was half elf, but his blood was stronger than my mothers. I look more human than elf, anyway. Really the only give away is that my ears have a bit more of a point than normal."

He turned his head and indicated to the tip of his burning red ear. Often the focus of his gaze when he looked at himself in the mirror, he knew his ears better than any body part. Instead of curving round like Cailan's, they rose to a sharp, exaggerated tips. "As King and my father, Maric was able to take me from Redcliffe and legitimized me as his son and second heir to the throne. That when he died, Cailan would inherit the throne. And if Cailan died without children, then I would inherit."

"What about your mother?"

"She..." Alistair's lips twitched into a wistful smile. "I'm told she died when I was young. I was raised in Redcliffe. Arl Eamon took care of me, gave me a roof over my head. I was six when the Queen died, Cailan was eleven when Maric sent for me from Redcliffe. I had never met him before then and suddenly I was expected to call him father."

"You don't though," she pointed out.

"What?"

"You don't call him 'father' to his face." Roselyn inched towards him. "You always call him 'Your Majesty'."

"I..." Alistair reached back and rubbed the hair at the nape of his neck. "I... yes. I suppose I do. It's... it's something I developed early on. Cailan always made sure that I knew I was only Prince by luck, nothing else. It felt wrong for me to call him 'father'."

"Did Arl Eamon know who your father was? And the Queen? Did she know about you?"

Alistair shook his head. "I don't know if Queen Rowan knew about me. I imagine she did. After all, Eamon was her brother and he  _did_  know who I was."

"He looked after you?"

"He gave me a roof over my head."

Roselyn's lips tightened into a line. "That's not what I asked." She folded her arms across her chest.

"He..." Alistair cleared his throat, "he did what he could. Rumours flew that I was his bastard. His wife didn't like that, so any kindness Eamon might have wanted to show me was ... not made easy for him."

Roselyn squinted up at him and said nothing. She released a slow breath through her nose and said nothing. The hold of her arms across her chest tightened and still Roselyn said nothing. Only her gaze bored into Alistair, whittling him down.

"I slept in the stables," he admitted, his skin now burning with shame. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Then wished for an ability to somehow stop time and turn it back - to take back this whole conversation and to ignore the idea of telling her. She would never want him now that she knew the truth of his early years and his parentage. She would want to leave and marry someone who was legitimately royal. Who wasn't of mixed blood. Who was worthy. "He looked after me..." Alistair added in a small voice, as if trying to make the fact of him sleeping in the stables somehow better. He kicked the grass with the toe of his boot.

"You were a child," Roselyn murmured, clasping her hands to her mouth. "How could he... how could  _she_..." She shook her head, sending damps wisps and tendrils of hair flying around her face. "That's such a cruel thing to do to a child."

Alistair lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "It could have been worse," he explained, trying to smile. It felt like a grimace but he kept it there. "I... I wanted to tell you because I think it's important you know the truth. A-about me."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"I'd understand if you want the wedding to be cancelled," Alistair carried on, speaking slow to ensure his voice didn't crack or shake. "If you wanted to leave. If the King is upset, at least the blame will lay with me and your reputation will be spotless."

"Does he know?" Roselyn stepped towards Alistair, tilting her head to one side. "Does Maric know that you've told me?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, he doesn't. He told me not to tell you... actually."

Nodding her head, Roselyn swayed on the balls of her feet, brows drawn together in thought her lips quirked to one side. Her gaze was fixed on the ground. Unkempt segments of her hair fell over her shoulders, loose from her ponytail. Alistair fought with himself not to sweep them away.

Alistair wasn't sure how long the silence dragged for. A minute? An hour, maybe? He heard the rain dropping on the leaves and the distant rumble of thunder miles and miles away. In the background he could still hear the low murmur of the guards while the horses grazed on the rich grass. He thought Roselyn would leave and say nothing; just take the reins of her horse and go, leaving him nothing but the view of her back. It was something he had prepared himself for.

He jumped when Roselyn moved; not away from him but towards him. She slid her hands up onto his shoulders, stepping close onto her toes. Alistair turned his head, eyes wide, unable to blink. He felt the brush of Roselyn's soft lips on his cheek and heat burst in his chest and across his face. She tucked herself against him, her arms winding around his waist.

Alistair dropped his riding jacket, mirroring the way she held him. His arms secure and safe around the bottom of her back, hands flat on her clothing. She felt good cushioned against him. Warm, soft, smooth, giving an embrace which was both gentle and firm, affectionate and fierce. Roselyn pressed her cheek against his chest. He pressed his mouth to the crown of her head, reluctant to breathe, let alone speak. He would only ruin the moment if he did.

"Thank you for telling me," Roselyn mumbled, tilting her head back to rest her chin against his chest. "I know you didn't have to... but that you did..." She shook her head and buried her face in the quilting of his doublet. "I appreciate you being so honest and trusting me with something as sensitive as this."

He smiled against her hair, inhaling the scents he had smelled earlier, the aromas of cinnamon and saffron until his head was swimming in the heady fragrances. "I want you to be happy," he explained, closing his eyes and swallowing against the closeness of his throat. "I want us both to be happy. I think if we're always honest... we might have a chance." He peered down at the top of her head, "What do you think?"

Leaning back a little, Roselyn peered up at him and gave a silent nod of her agreement, her hold around him growing the tiniest bit tighter. Alistair's heart grew heavy in his chest, stomach coiling on itself. Fingers curling into her clothing, Alistair licked the rain from his lips dropping his head. He felt Roselyn rise up onto her toes to meet him, watched her eyelids flutter closed, felt her breath skim across his mouth.

"Your Highness?" One of the guards who accompanied them spoke and Alistair barely silenced his growl of frustration. He pressed his forehead against Roselyn's, muttering a soft curse under his breath.

"Just one moment of peace, is that so much to ask?" He grumbled. Roselyn chuckled and pressed her lips to his cheek. He stood, inhaled, and turned to face the guard as he approached through the long grass, apparently blind to what he had interrupted.

"Yes?" Alistair asked as politely as possible.

"The rain is growing heavier, Your Highness." The guard explained, "storm coming in from the west it looks like. We need to go back to the palace before it gets any worse and the trails get water logged."

Lifting his gaze skywards, Alistair took note of the dark grey clouds and the lashing rain. He found it funny how he hardly noticed it getting worse while he and Roselyn spoke. "Very well." Alistair agreed with a nod of his head. "Saddle the horses as quickly as possible. Two guards will have to carry the servants on their horses too."

The guard saluted. "Yes, Your Highness." Alistair watched him return to the others and bark orders.

Roselyn left his side to retrieve his riding jacket from the ground. She held it out to him, eyebrow tilted on her face and a soft glow of pink across her cheeks. "Before you catch your death."

"Right." He took the jacket from her and draped it over one arm - it was too wet to wear now. "Thank you." They stood under the canopy of the trees in silence, watching as the guards and servants saddled the horses ready for their departure. The air was thick with the knowledge of what almost passed between them - but didn't. Again. Alistair rocked back and forth on his feet, arguing with himself as to whether to mention it.

He started when Roselyn's slim fingers slid against his palm and between his. She squeezed and he returned the gesture, smiling to himself. They stood in silence, waiting until they were ready to make the journey back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and thoughts on the previous chapters.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter too! Let me know what you think! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roselyn is able to offload some of her worries about her impending wedding to Anora, and steals a brief moment alone with her future husband. Alistair’s last night as a bachelor ends in raised voices and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr]. Who are magnificent birds of paradise.
> 
> \- Chapter Rating: T

_Month: Bloomingtide. One day before the wedding._

 

* * *

Roselyn trailed behind her mother and Anora as they walked along one of the gravel paths of the gardens, vaguely listening to Eleanor dictate how the ceremony for her wedding would run.

Tomorrow. It was the next day.

It had come around so quickly. Three months ago she was travelling from Highever and the wedding seemed so distant then. Now it was real and happening. Her dress was finished and hung in her rooms with a veil. The palace was being decorated as they walked the gardens with hanging wreathes of flowers and awning draped across the rafters and in each room. The main hall was decorated in the standard colours of both Theirin and Cousland. Drapes of dark blue and silver were hung around the room, interjected with the Theirin colours of gold and deep scarlet. The tables which normally lined horizontally across the room were pushed to the edges to make space for dancing. A pair of seats was set in the middle of the room where she and Alistair would sit after the ceremony.

The seats were elevated underneath a gauzy canopy, which Roselyn noticed had built on her way out to the gardens. The eyes of every single person attending would be on them and that thought made Roselyn's stomach churn. Her every glance and gesture would be under scrutiny for the first few hours of her and Alistair's life together. She struggled to think of anything worse than being examined and spied upon in such a way.

The number of guests seemed to grow every time Eleanor went through the list. Most people were members of Maric's court, attending because it was a royal wedding and not because they had any real connection to either bride or groom. They were attending in order to seem loyal and dedicated; probably in the hopes they might catch Maric in a good mood and be able to ask favours of him.

The only people Roselyn cared about were her brother, nephew, and sister-in-law. Fergus left Highever in the care of their steward, Ser Gilmore, while he and his family made the trip. They were supposed to arrive that evening and the prospect of seeing her brother and nephew for the first time in three months was the only thing that kept Roselyn's spirits up.

Beside her, Roo chuffed and nudged Roselyn's leg with her head. Startled, Roselyn quickly rubbed her dogs ears and caught up with Anora and Eleanor who were several paces in front of her. Eleanor was concluding an explanation of something. Roselyn shut her eyes in the hopes she would not be quizzed.

"You know what you need to do then, sweetling?" Eleanor asked over her shoulder. Roselyn swore in her head and managed to smile.

"Yes. O-of course Mother."

An eyebrow arched on Eleanor's face. Her mouth puckered into the look of quiet disbelief Roselyn was familiar with. "Are you sure? What do you need to do when you get to the hand-fasting?"

Roselyn clenched her teeth. She knew this. She did. The hand-fasting happened towards the end of the ceremony. As the vows were said, after the rings were exchanged, the bride and groom clasped hands and the Revered Mother bound them in a band of weaved reeds dyed red. Red to symbolise passion and love, the reeds to represent the earthly connection to the Maker's natural world, and the binding was to strengthen the bond between the couple.

Aware of both Anora and Eleanor watching her, Roselyn stared at the ground. She wracked her brain for the answer, opening her eyes wide in the hopes it might to leap to her mind.

"Honestly, Roselyn..." tutted Eleanor.

"We... uhm..." Roselyn glanced at Anora for help who lifted her hands and clasped them together behind Eleanor's shoulder. "We hold hands?" She suggested the most obvious answer, unable to think of anything else.

"You face each other while the binding is happening." Eleanor explained with impatience. "And you only clasp one hand. The hand closest to the Revered Mother - your left - so that you walk back down the aisle together hand bound."

Roselyn pouted down at her hands grasped in front of her. "I knew that."

"You shouldn't have to think about it!" explained her mother growing shrill. "You should know your part in your own wedding. Haven't you heard a single word I've been saying?"

Roselyn shrank back, feeling sick and small under her mother's scolding. It was like she was a child again, being reprimanded for tripping over the hem of her dress.

"Her mind is probably occupied by other things, Lady Eleanor," Anora explained, coming to Roselyn's aid and defence once more. "I'm certain tomorrow she won't put a foot wrong."

"I hope so," Eleanor remarked, her voice tight and sharp. "One hair wrong and the Cousland family will be the laughing stock of Ferelden."

"I'm sorry, Mother."

Both Eleanor's voice and expression softened as she stroked Roselyn's cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear with genuine affection and tenderness. "I'm only trying to make sure you're prepared," she explained. "You're my only daughter. Despite what you might think, I want you to be happy."

An uncomfortable tingle stung behind Roselyn's eyes and she swallowed with force. She knew her mother's sentiment was sincere. That despite everything, Roselyn's happiness was a concern and that she was probably feeling a sense of melancholy at seeing her only daughter married.

"I know." Roselyn leaned into her mother's warm palm and smiled. "I won't disappoint you tomorrow."

Eleanor kissed her brow. "I know you won't, sweetl--"

"Lady Eleanor!"

A servant in Cousland livery raced across the gardens towards them. Dropping her hand from Roselyn's face, Eleanor turned with all the grace and steadiness Roselyn knew her for and approached the young man who was puffing out of breath.

Anora wrapped an arm around Roselyn's waist, guiding her away a few feet so Eleanor and the servant could speak in private.

"Be honest with me," Anora spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, you know." Roselyn gulped hard. "Fine. I suppose." Anora released her waist only to slide her arm through the crook of Roselyn's elbow so they could walk close together.

"And if you were being truthful?" teased Anora, blue eyes glittering.

It seemed to Roselyn the impending wedding had an effect on everyone. Anora's cheeks were almost at a constant flush and she smiled with more ease than Roselyn had witnessed in her time at the palace. She was quick to laugh and even Cailan seemed in a better mood. The two of them were spending more time together and he had been surprisingly affectionate towards her. Not that Roselyn was about to question the reason for it - clearly Cailan's attentions were welcomed by his wife.

"I'm not worried about the wedding," Roselyn explained. "I can do that. It's simply following the steps of a dance and while I may not know the details as much as I should, I don't think I have anything to be concerned about."

"Right." Anora slid a stray tendril of blonde hair back behind her ear.

"It's..." Roselyn hesitated dropping her eyes to her feet, glimpsing the toes of her shoes with each step. "It's the part after the wedding that I'm worried about."

"What, the reception?" queried the other woman.

Roselyn whined, "Anora!"

Chuckling, her lips curled into a wicked grin, Anora guided Roselyn towards the yew hedges which made up the outer wall of the hedge maze. They stood together waiting for Eleanor to finish with the servant. "You'll have to be specific if you want my help."

"You're cruel," pouted Roselyn, folding her arms across her chest. Anora lifted her chin, smiling down at her. Warmth blossomed across Roselyn's cheeks and she could feel herself turning red the longer Anora looked at her and the longer she refused to speak. "It's the..." Roselyn glanced around to make sure no one could hear them and to be extra safe leaned into whisper into Anora's ear. "The _wedding night_." She hissed, her flush sweeping up her neck and cheeks to stain her forehead.

"What about it?" Anora asked her, earnest in her curiosity.

"Well... I-I--" Roselyn dropping her chin to her chest, nibbling her bottom lip. "I-- I don't know what I'm..." she gestured as she struggled to find her words. Of all the things for her to not know how to express herself on it _would_ be this.

"You don't know what to do?" Anora prompted.

Roselyn shook her head, feeling younger than her age. "No," she muttered, "and I've never-- I mean, what if Alistair doesn't like me? Or I'm bad at it?" Her head shot up. "Sweet Maker, what if neither of us know what to do? And we're just stuck sitting in our room after we're married and we're both lost and it's awkward and strange and-- and--" She grabbed Anora's sleeve. "Anora, what if it _hurts_?!"

She began to breathe quickly, unable to catch her breath as her anxiety and the gnawing worries she had been suppressing about the night itself began to rear their heads. She had lain awake every night for the last week thinking of the time after the wedding. While the feast and revelry continued, she and Alistair would have to complete the task put before them. She wondered about what they had to do; what _she_ had to do. It was one of duties as a wife after all. And there was no other way to have a child. It was necessary.

Unaware of Anora's guiding, Roselyn found herself on a stone bench, her head dangling down between her knees while Anora rubbed her back. Roo licked her hand, her chin perch on Roselyn's knee. Little by little, Roselyn started to calm down. She sucked air in through her nose, letting out long, slow breaths through her mouth and counting down from five on each one. Her vision grew clearer, the fuzzy black haze which had started to seep into her vision beginning to recede.

"Feeling better?" Anora inquired, rubbing her hand in circles on Roselyn's back. "Panic over?"

"Yes." Roselyn nodded. She took a deep inhale as she sat up. "I apologise. I'm just..." she sighed, twisting her fingers around each other in her lap. Anora placed one hand over Roselyn's to still them. Suppressing the desire to begin weeping, Roselyn tightened her lips into a line and held her breath. "I'm worried and nervous and..." She smoothed her fingers over her forehead, "a little... afraid."

"I shouldn't have teased," Anora told her, her expression warm and almost motherly in how she looked at Roselyn. She swept the loose rings of Roselyn's hair over her shoulders.

"I'm being silly."

"No," Anora shook her head, "It's normal to be apprehensive. I won't lie to you, the first time is often awkward and there was a some pain with Cailan and I."

Roselyn grimaced and tried not to wince.

"You may  bleed, a little bit. It's different for all women."

Another grimace and this time she clenched her jaw.

"Listen to me," Anora turned her whole body to her so the two of them were facing one-another. Anora gave Roselyn her undivided attention, squeezing her fingers. "Remember, you do not have to do anything you are not ready for."

Furrowing her brows, Roselyn gave a subtle shake of her head. "But... but I thought..." She clenched her fingers. "What if Alistair... With it being the wedding night an-and..."

"Alistair will be as nervous as you are," Anora explained to her. "More so, probably. He'll have had Cailan around him, building up sex and the wedding night and how he has to perform. It's all a lie."

"It... is?"

"Mhm-hm." Anora nodded and glanced around. She leaned in closer to Roselyn, "Don't tell anyone," she whispered gigging, "but Cailan had drunk so much he struggled to... do his duty." Anora gestured, "We ended up falling asleep after several failed attempts. We didn't actually consummate our marriage until the morning."

Roselyn pressed the flat of her hand to her mouth, stifling her own laughter as the two women parted. She felt less anxious speaking to Anora about her concerns. She made her whole panic seem unnecessary, like she had blown the whole thing out of proportion. She sighed, pushing her fingers through her hair.

"You don't think Alistair will be angry, do you?" she queried, tilting her head to one side. "If I say no."

"Not at all." Anora got to her feet and grasped Roselyn's hand so she followed. "But if you are so curious you could ask him yourself." Following the subtle nod of Anora's head, Roselyn peered over her shoulder to one of the entrances to the hedge maze. Alistair stood only just visible, peering out from behind the bushes, glancing between Eleanor and Roselyn, trying to avoid being seen.

"What's he doing here?!" Roselyn demanded of Anora. "We're not supposed to see each other before tomorrow!"

Anora rolled her eyes. "Go and ask him what he wants. I'll keep your mother distracted." She dropped Roselyn's hands, crossing towards Eleanor and the servant still with her.

"Wait! Wait-- Anora-!" Roselyn protested but was ignored. Biting her bottom lip, she chanced a look at where Alistair stood, still obscured by the bushes, only the sleeve of his coat visible beyond the leaves.

Holding her breath, Roselyn watched her mother as she crossed the grass towards the opening to the maze. Anora guided Eleanor in the opposite direction with the servant as they both over looked a long scroll of sprawling writing. Roo followed Roselyn into the maze, waiting with her while Roselyn glanced around for Alistair who had disappeared.

"Alistair?" she called for him in a whisper, worried about being heard. "Alistair!"

He poked his head around the corner of one of the hedges. "This way!" He disappeared again. Roselyn lifted her dress and broke into a run to pursue him.

Alistair led her on a chase through the maze, deeper and deeper from the outer edges inwards turning one way then another, avoiding dead ends and the gardeners who were at work keeping the trees trimmed and in good health. Roselyn forgot to care about the rules and how she was strictly forbidden from seeing Alistair the day before her wedding. Supposedly it was bad luck. She didn't care that she was moving further and further away from her mother, that Anora would have to cover for her, and that if she didn't reappear in a timely fashion, half the palace guard would be sent looking for her.

All she felt was the thrilling excitement which bubbled inside her whenever Alistair was around. The sensation filled her up, warming her limbs to her finger tips. She loved how it made her giddy and made her whole body feel light.

It didn't occur to her that this was the deepest in the hedge maze she had ever been. When she turned the final corner she was out of breath and met with a small stone fountain surrounded with a circular walled pond. It was set in a square of hedges with entrances on each side. A wrought iron bench sat in the shade, rusted and looked as though a small wind would cause it to fall to pieces.

Roselyn jumped a little when Alistair grasped her hand from behind her, sneaking out from behind the yew trees to surprise her. She turned towards him, chasing her breath and snaked her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his, cushioning her cheek on his chest. His arms enveloped her, as did the grounded, earthen smell of him that she was coming to enjoy. His breathing matched hers once she caught up with herself. He lay the flats of his hands on her back, following the curve of her spine with slow, regular strokes of his fingers.

It suddenly dawned on her what she was doing: she was hugging him. If they were caught, there would be scandal. She jumped away from him as if he was on fire and smoothed the skirts of her dress out. Her cheeks and neck burned with the sense of humiliation she felt. She could not believe that she allowed herself to behave so improperly in the palace grounds.

Alistair only chuckled and grasped her small, slender hands in his. She watched as he brought them to his mouth, smoothing his thumbs across the bare flesh of her knuckles. He kissed her fingers. Roselyn felt her knees tremble, her stomach coiling in her gut. The pulse in her neck jumped and quickened. She found herself drinking in his features. His kind, warm, honey-brown eyes that seemed to shine almost amber when the sun hit them just right. Then there was the straight, almost perfect slope of his nose and how it hooked just a little at the end. The slight scruff on his chin, a trait she had never enjoyed on other men, seemed to suit him and she found she didn't mind it. To see him without it would be strange. She stared at his mouth.

 _Maker - his mouth_.

She was becoming obsessed with it. When they talked she found herself fascinated by the movement of his lips and the way he formed his words. The way he spoke, his voice. Everything to do with his mouth enthralled her and had captivated her since the day in the fields with the archery butts. That day she had wanted to kiss him. Perhaps it had been the setting, their surroundings, being so far from the palace and away from prying eyes but she could recall the thrill she felt when she felt the puffs of his breath against her lips. If he had kissed her then, she would have never wanted him to stop.

Realising she had been staring at him, Roselyn dropped her gaze. She licked her lips and took a breath to settle the butterflies going wild in her belly.

"I wanted to see how you were," Alistair explained, still holding her hands and stroking her skin with his rough, warm fingers. "I thought this was the best place for us to talk for a little while and avoid getting caught."

"I hope you can find your way out," Roselyn smiled. She caught herself swaying and stopped.

"Oh, I know the maze as well as I know the palace," explained Alistair looking around at the leaves for a moment then back to Roselyn. He fixed his gaze on her. The intensity she saw therein surprised her and she found it difficult to look for too long and difficult to breathe. "How are you feeling? About tomorrow, I mean?"

"Nervous," Roselyn admitted, her voice tight, nodding her head. "A little terrified I'll trip on my dress or stand on my train and knock over the Revered Mother or something."

"Oh, if anyone makes a fool of themselves, it will be me," Alistair laughed and inched towards her. "I know you are going to look beautiful tomorrow."

Feeling herself blush, Roselyn glanced away bashfully, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. She took one of her hands back to tease her hair behind one ear. She could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks when she brushed her fingers along her skin and down her neck. "Thank you..." she mumbled, dropping her eyes to her feet.

"Are you looking forward to it, at least?" asked Alistair, hope leaking into his voice and his expression. His eyes widened a little and grew a touch brighter. Roselyn was almost certain she heard his voice crack with the weight of his worry. "Maybe a little bit?"

"I am looking forward to it," Roselyn assured him, stepping closer. "More than just a little." She decided not to mention what she was worried about. She didn't want to weigh that on Alistair's mind or embarrass him by talking about something so personal. They could discuss it the next day. After the wedding, once they were alone.

At her answer, Alistair positively beamed, a grin breaking across his mouth making his face light up. He chuckled at himself. His fingers squeezed Roselyn's and she watched him ruffle his free hand through his hair. A sharp breath left his mouth in a whoosh, Roselyn tilted her head, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour.

"I wanted to..." Alistair began and then stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded to himself as if drawing on some internal strength or confidence. "Before tomorrow, I wanted to..." A pause and a frustrated grunt. "You know we'll be required to kiss? In front of everyone?"

"Thank you for the reminder," Roselyn shook her head, the idea of being watched as she kissed her husband for the first time turning her blood to ice. "I'm trying not to think about that."

"It _is_ daunting, I know," Alistair agreed. "And... well, I thought..." Roselyn saw the Adam's apple in his throat bob when he swallowed. "I thought that, maybe we should have a... a go. N-now. A... uh-- a trial kiss... if you will. If you want."

"A... trial kiss?" Roselyn repeated. She tilted a brow and kept her feet rooted to the spot. She did not wish to seem over eager, even as her heart and mind both cried out in unison for her to throw caution to the wind and kiss him.

He nodded. "Yes. It... It would be to see that w-we're compatible... you see." He smiled a lopsided smile, tilting his head to one side. "I've heard there's nothing worse than - uhm - than ki-kissing someone for the first t-time and... and realising you're not compatible. Kissing compatibility is very important. So I'm told by a reliable source."

"Who is this reliable source?"

"It's a secret," he chuckled, "I would tell you. But then your life would be in danger..." He curled her hair back behind her ear with his fingers, stroking her cheek and neck. Roselyn felt herself flush, her breath hitching in her throat. "I couldn't have that."

"Oh?" Roselyn stepped closer, diminishing the space between them. She tilted her head, clasped her hands behind her back and peered up at him. "So... this trial kiss, it would be a way to get acquainted? To prevent any second-hand embarrassment for the guests? More for them than for ourselves."

Alistair slipped one hand behind Roselyn's back, his palm sliding over her waist, she grew hotter at the boldness of his gesture. "O-oh, yes. Definitely." He swept his free hand up, through the loose tendrils of her hair and down her cheek. His palm cupped her jaw. Roselyn's heart leapt into her throat, thudding heavily to the sensual brush of his thumb tracing her top and bottom lip. "We would be doing them a service."

"Well," Roselyn's voice shuddered when she spoke. She could feel every inch of her skin beneath her clothes thrumming and pulsating; coming alive, growing excited. Her stomach clenched as an unfamiliar ache pooled in her belly and mingled with the overwhelming heat that settled there. He caressed her lips as she spoke, his eyes watching her mouth as she formed her words. "As long as it's not for our own ends." She pressed her body against his. "Then we probably should kiss." Laying her hands flat against Alistair's jerkin, Roselyn dug her fingers into the material in an effort to stay upright.

"We really should." Alistair nodded. Roselyn fought not to bite the end of his thumb as he swept it across her mouth again. He inclined his head. Roselyn's heart skipped, the butterflies in her stomach growing wild. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Roselyn urged, using her hold on his clothes to steady her as she pushed onto her toes. "I am so very sure, Alistair."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she closed the gap. One moment his breath tickled her mouth, the next a horrendous clattering startled them both and she heard Alistair curse under his breath. He released her enough that he could turn and see what caused the interruption. An elderly gardener had dropped his gear, a shovel, hoe, and a fork. Alistair's warm hands left Roselyn's body and she watched him go to assist the older man who apologised profusely.

She tried not to feel the disappointment weigh down in her belly. Tomorrow they could kiss whenever they wanted to. After tomorrow they would not need to slip away and hide to have a moment alone. After tomorrow they could and would kiss in front of a whole Chantry full of people. They would kiss in front of her parents, her brother. They would kiss in front of the King. It was not such a bad thing that they could not kiss now. Watching Alistair help the gardener with his tools, Roselyn pushed her fingers through her hair. She tried to quell the tempest raging in her chest and her stomach, breathing deep to calm the angry fluttering she felt.

Hearing the gravel crunch behind her, she turned to see Alistair approaching her wiping his hands on his trousers and the gardener was gone.

"We're not very lucky, are we?" Alistair asked her, coming to a stop about a foot away from her.

"Not really." Roselyn thought for only a moment, her eyes drawn to his lips and his mouth curved into a sheepish grin. She made a decision, swallowed hard, closed the space between them, and curled her fingers into Alistair's jerkin as she rose up onto her toes.

"I should prob--" Alistair grew silent at the light brush Roselyn applied to his lips with her own. His hands encircled her waist. She tightened her grip on his clothing, he dropped his head, opening his mouth a little, and suddenly it felt to Roselyn as though she was flying and falling.

His lips were against hers, soft and warm and insistent. His kiss was confident but clumsy in its enthusiasm and Roselyn found herself fighting laughter which threatened to bubble up within her chest. Laughter at herself for how nervous she had been. Her fingers curled into fists, heart crashing in her ears, and her stomach tightened into a knot.

Alistair arched his head, changing the position of his mouth. Roselyn's desire awakened, flooding over her like a hot bath. She slid both hands up over his chest to his shoulders, one arm she wrapped around his neck, the other she moved further, fingers pushing into his hair. He lifted a hand to her jaw and it curved around the base of her skull, tempting her to arc her head back and relinquish to his inexpert but eager lips.

Roselyn had been kissed before. She kissed boys her own age at dances, celebrations, and at Wintersend as she grew up. They were pecks, quick brushes where she wiped her mouth on her sleeve a moment later. This was nothing like those kisses. It wasn't perfect, the rawness between the two of them was plain, but every passing second was a second they learned. A soft, breathless moan escaped from between Roselyn's lips as she stole a breath. Her urge to laugh was gone, replaced by a desperate eagerness to keep kissing him. His lips and his mouth had distracted her from so early in their acquaintance, she was pleased and keen to enjoy them now.

The tip of Alistair's tongue quivered across Roselyn's bottom lip in a quietly bold but experimental way. The sensation tickled, it made her insides tremble and her mouth opened against the touch. She gasped against his mouth when he did it a second time, curling her fingers tighter into his clothing and his hair.

"Alistair..." She sighed his name without thinking, heat and desire swimming through her body making every inch of her grow warm and shiver pleasantly.

Alistair chuckled against her mouth. Roselyn could feel him grinning into the kiss and felt his hands press into her back through her bodice and her stomacher. She could feel the curl of his fingers enmeshed in her hair at the base of her skull.

She relinquished to his embrace as his hand lowered from her head to envelop her back, bringing her impossibly close to him. Alistair almost picked her up off the ground when she began to break away. He pressed light kisses to her lips, loosening his hold.

Pressing their foreheads together, Roselyn caught her own breath while listening to Alistair chase his. Her cheeks ached from the smile she could feel plastered across her face. Alistair's face was a deep scarlet. It took him several seconds to open his eyes, when he did she saw they were shining and he met her gaze. For a moment there was silence, then laughter as it erupted up inside them both.

"Maker's breath..." Alistair's voice was hoarse when he spoke, and it appeared to Roselyn that he had to concentrate to remember how to form words. "That... that wasn't too soon, was it?" He asked her, his wariness and concern cracking through his heightened mood. He tilted his head at an angle, inching closer leaving only the slightest gap between their lips.

"No." Roselyn shook her head debating for a moment how to respond. "No. I... I liked it," she told him, wanting to remain demure and controlled; not allow her enthusiasm to overwhelm her.

"Good," grinned Alistair. "I'll take that as a good sign." He leaned in to kiss her again, which she allowed for a moment before being the one to pull away.

"What do you think? Are we compatible?" she asked him smiling from beneath her eyelashes.

"I think so," he nodded. "Though we should definitely have a few more tries." A small devilish grin broke out across his mouth as he inclined his head towards her, eyes on her lips. "To be certain."

"Of course," Roselyn said breathless but unable to fight her grin. "I should hate for us to embarrass anyone."

Alistair made a soft noise of agreement, before his lips crashed against hers once more.

 

* * *

 

 

Denerim's brothel, The Pearl, was not where Alistair imagined he would be spending night. He had envisioned pacing his room after finishing his duties, his lessons, and dinner. He thought he would spend his hours awake, trying to sleep but unable to succumb because he would spend his time recalling the kiss with Roselyn in the maze. The exciting tremble he felt on that first connection, and how it had only grown and built the more comfortable they had become.

For weeks he wanted to kiss her. Now that he had, he found he could focus on little else except his own anticipation for when he could do so again. He was glad the wedding was the next day. He wasn't sure he would have been able to wait much longer than that.

Rather than being allowed to disappear to his room and prepare as much as possible for the following day, his brother and father had stolen him away after supper to sneak him out of the palace (as much as the King and Princes of Ferelden _could_ sneak out of the palace). Protesting the whole way, Alistair now sat at a round table in the Pearl. His uncle Teagan sat to his left, as sober as Alistair was where they both still nursed their first tankards of ale. Maric and Cailan were both merry and set  to become more so as they ordered stronger drinks.

The room they were in was the back room of the brothel. Alistair knew there were guards positioned outside to keep them safe and that anyone coming or going would have been silenced with coin in case anything untoward occurred during their visit. Alistair knew Cailan could be a grabby drunk, but even he was amazed and appalled but his brother's behaviour. How he pawed at the waitress who kept their tankards full and how Cailan pulled her into his lap when he could.

Maric was little better. He didn't tell Cailan to stop, he only laughed and drank deep from his cup, his laughter echoing back at him.

Twisting his tankard around between his palms, Alistair nudged his uncle. "I can't tell you how glad I am you're here," he told him in an undertone. "This is not my idea of a good evening."

"Your father wanted you to mourn your last night as an unmarried man. To celebrate its passing."

"Is that something to mourn?" Alistair asked him. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I'm excited to marry Roselyn."

The brows on Teagan's face shot up. "You are?"

"Yes," Alistair shrugged. "I like her." He drank from his mug, the thought of his bride back at the palace making a slow smile come to his lips and a contented warmth settle in his belly. "I think she likes me."

The surprise on his uncle's face settled into a fond and approving look, almost fatherly. "I'm glad." He patted Alistair's arm. "The two of you make an attractive pair. I think... I _hope_ you'll make one another happy."

Cailan lurched towards them, grabbing Alistair in a headlock. "Of course she'll make him happy!" he guffawed. "Pretty little thing. I bet she's as good as the whores here under the sheets. They won't be able to keep their hands off each other."

"Get off, Cailan." Alistair shoved him and watched his brother fall into his seat and wobble while he straightened himself. "And mind what you say about my wife," he added, almost snarling.

Rolling his eyes, Cailan called for more drink. "Don't be so protective, Alistair," Cailan snorted into his drink, peering up over the rim of his tankard. "She's not your wife yet."

"You may mistreat Anora, but I have no intention of following your example," barked Alistair, feeling his hackles raise and his skin warm under his thin veil of anger towards his brother. Cailan glared up at him, his eyes dark and almost murderous with intensity. Unafraid, Alistair leaned back in his seat to fold his arms. "Roselyn is going to be happy with me. And me with her. You'll see."

"You keep telling yourself that, little brother," Cailan sneered. He tossed his empty tankard at Alistair's head. It went wide and hit the wall about a foot from Alistair's head. Alistair steeled himself and did not flinch, knowing if he did Cailan would only make fun. "How are you going to make her happy if you don't know what to do."

"What to do...?"

"With yourself. With her."

Alistair rolled his eyes. He glanced between his father and Teagan. Maric was silent, drinking heavily from his cup enjoying the back and forth between his sons. He knew Teagan was listening carefully, ready to jump in if things got too heated or personal.

"Maybe we should get him a whore?" Cailan suggested, nudging his father. "What do you think father?"

"No," Alistair retorted coolly.

"Probably for the best," Cailan gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders retrieving a new tankard. He took a long swallow, ale dribbling from the corners of his mouth. He wiped it away with his sleeve, smacking his lips. "Once you've had one, anything your new wife will do will seem tame and boring."

Alistair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. He wanted to go. Wanted to leave his father and Cailan to their drinking and get back to the palace. He wanted to see Roselyn. To kiss her again and be able to hold her in his arms without the risk of breaking any decorum or code. He wanted to sleep and make the next day come quicker. He wanted her to be his wife already. He was eager, perhaps too eager, to start their life together.

"You do _know_ what to do tomorrow night, don't you?" Cailan leered across the table. "With her? With your cock?"

"Your Highness," Teagan spoke up, a soft growl on his voice.

"You know you'll be expected to fuck her."

"Cailan." Alistair folded his arms, his voice rumbling up from within his chest. He fought the flush sweeping across his freckled cheeks. It burnt the tips of his ears. The thought of the wedding night _had_ crossed his mind. He was nervous, terrified, and excited by it in a way he found hard to explain. He worried that Roselyn wouldn't like him. That she would be disgusted or appalled by his appearance. He was worried he would hurt her. That he would do something wrong. Touch her in a way she did not like, or do something inappropriate. He was terrified by the prospect of it; of being intimate with someone for the first time and the pressure that came with it. "Shut up."

"Look at that," Cailan nudged Maric who had a contented, absentminded smile on his face. One only gained by being pleasantly inebriated. "He's blushing." Cailan barked with laughter, clutching his stomach. "You really are clueless with what you'll need to do, aren't you?"

"I can learn," Alistair replied as fiercely as he was able. "Roselyn and I can learn together."

"How romantic," his brother sneered, flicking his hair. "Let me give you some advice." He almost lurched across the table.

"Don't, Cailan."

"First, get her on her knees in front of you. Grab her hair and push your cock into her mouth. She'll probably gag, but it feels incredible." Cailan leaned back, dangling his head over the back of his chair. "If she's a good wife, she'll let you come in her mouth, or on her face."

Alistair narrowed his eyes, his stomach clenching. He glanced at Teagan who was staring awkward at his hands around his flagon. Alistair fought the sick feeling rising up his throat and growled. "Do you do that to Anora?"

"Anora?" repeated Cailan. "No. But Roselyn _isn't_ Anora. Who knows what they tricks they teach women in Highever." He took another long swallow from his tankard. Alistair dug his fingers into the sleeves of his jacket, clenching his jaw until he felt a sharp pain shooting down his neck. "When you get down to it," continued Cailan his words beginning to slur, "Make sure she's on her front with her arse in the air. You can fuck her from behind that way. She'll enjoy it, it feels good and you don't have to look at her face."

"I'm going back," Alistair got to his feet in a rush, his chair falling back and clattering on the floor. "I am not listening to anymore."

"I'm trying to help you," Cailan retorted savagely. He got to his feet too and wobbled. "You ungrateful fucking inbred. Any children you have will probably look like twisted half-elves anyway."

"Cailan, enough," Teagan barked, his voice gruff. "This is unbecoming of you. This is meant to be a celebration. Not an opportunity for you to attack Alistair."

"Don't lecture me, Teagan," huffed Cailan. "You're older than both of us and yet to take a wife. What's wrong? No one wants the leftovers of the Guerrin family?"

"Cailan," Maric finally spoke, his voice heavy. "Apologise to your uncle."

Dropping his tankard to the floor, Cailan crossed his arms. "No." He was unsteady on his feet, swaying with the weight of his drunkenness. Maric slowly got up and stood at his full height. Alistair wanted to disappear. He always felt small around his father, always blanched when he was upright and towering over him. Now was no exception, even though Maric's attention was firmly on Cailan.

Cailan lacked the same sense Alistair had and met their father's quiet but furious eyes with a defiant stare. Alistair saw the only betrayal of fear in his brother's stance, that he clenched his hands on his arms and tightened them across his body.

"Apologise," Maric repeated with soft anger. Alistair had heard him use the tone before in council meetings. He also witnessed what happened afterwards, when Maric's full fury was unleashed.

"Why?" Cailan demanded. "What is he to me?"

"Your uncle. Your mother's brother," Maric told him, "He deserves your respect. He demands it."

"Your Majesty, it--"

Maric raised a hand, silencing Teagan. "Apologise, boy," he spat his words at Cailan.

Alistair saw his brother grit and lock his jaw into place. He willed Cailan to swallow his stupid pride and apologise. Hoped that even in this drunken state he held on to _some_ sense of when to do as he was told.

Knowing that Cailan was not going to back down, Maric sighed through his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his thumb and forefinger across them. "You foolish, spoiled boy," he began. Alistair heard the vague tremor in his father's voice as he controlled his anger. "Talking like you know about the world. Talking to your brother like you can teach him anything - _anything -_ about women or loving his wife. How often do you lay with Anora, hm?"

"I--"

"I didn't say you could speak!" snapped Maric. Alistair winced. Cailan fell silent and Alistair watched him swallow down on his words. "The answer is rarely. You were given the daughter of my closest and truest friend, a jewel in Thedas and you squandered it. For what? For whores and wenches who would sooner give you a disease. A disease you've no doubt passed on to her."

"It's not my--"

"She's barren because of you, Cailan!" boomed Maric, losing all control. "Because of your ways, my line is not secure! You and Anora have been married five years and there is yet to be an heir! I have to turn to my bastard for hope." He gestured in Alistair's direction. "A half-elf bastard, Cailan. And a daughter from a family so desperate for power, she will likely fill his head with ideas!"

Teagan placed a hand on Alistair's arm to stop him from interjecting. Alistair bit his tongue, hard. He wanted to step in and defend Roselyn. He wanted to defend himself, but he had no desire to have his father's fury turned on him. He ignored the slow throb of hurt which made his chest constrict and made it difficult for him to breathe. He knew his parentage would always be held against him by those who knew, but he had no idea his being a bastard of half-elf was something his father viewed with so much shame.

"My hopes lie with them because you were given everything in the world and it was never enough."

"You never asked if I even _wanted_ Anora!" Cailan snarled. "I never did! I courted her and married her and loved her because _you_ made me! Because it was all _your_ plan!" Cailan grabbed a tankard off the table. "You never cared what I wanted!" He slammed it down, the liquid within sloshing over the rim. "Some father you are! All you care about it yourself and your stupid lineage!" He slammed it again. "If you cared at _all_ about me or my mother, then Alistair wouldn't even exist!"

Anticipating what was about to happen, Alistair threw the table aside with a strong push and lunged across the space. Cailan swung back with the tankard in one hand and threw it forward, still clutched in his fingers. The wood and metal scratched Alistair's face. He heard a soft crack and closed his eyes.

He stood for a moment, tasting blood on his tongue and feeling it drip down his face. He touched his cheek and followed the line of his face up to his eyebrow. He hissed, touching his fingers across an open wound.

"Andraste's Grace! Alistair!" Teagan gaped passing between a stunned Maric and Cailan to see to him. "Let me see."

"I'm fine, Teagan." Alistair assured him, smiling. He made himself laugh through the sharp pain as if to prove a point. He turned to see his father unhurt, staring at him with wide eyes. And Cailan barely comprehending what he had tried to do and done. The tankard sat on the ground, Cailan's hand open and shaking. Alistair saw his brother's eyes were wide, his pupils almost pin pricks.

Approaching him, Alistair wrapped his hand around the back of his brother's neck. "Cailan." He shook him gently. "Cailan."

"Alistair?" His brother blinked owlishly. "Alistair, Maker. I didn't mean to--"

"It's fine." Alistair promised. "Things got a bit heated, that's all." He smeared the blood dripping from his eyebrow across his forehead and grinned. "I'm fine. I've had worse from you during sparring matches. This is nothing."

Cailan gave a sharp, breathless laugh. He pushed his hands through his hair, his voice shaking when he exhaled. "Maybe Roselyn likes scars."

"Maybe." Alistair's lips quirked into a soft smile. He would have to find a way to explain the injury to her the next day. He hoped she wouldn't be upset. Turning to his father, Alistair saw Maric had calmed a little. His shoulders were no longer ridged, his body was less wound up and tense. "I think we should go back to the palace, Your Majesty."

Maric stared at him for several long, tense seconds. Alistair looked back, not cowering from his father's gaze. Maric was staring at him like he was looking at a different person, seeing him for the first time. Often, Alistair saw little in his father's eyes when it came to him except a sense of loss and sadness. Now there was something else, a small glimmer of respect. Alistair had impressed him in a way that his victories in tourneys never had.

"Good idea," agreed Maric with a curt nod. "We'll get one of the healers to look at that for you."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Be that as it may, Alistair," Maric grabbed Cailan's arm where he lurched. He helped wrap it around Teagan's shoulders in order support Cailan's swaying body. "Your wife won't thank me for letting you get married with a black eye and a scar."

"Really," Alistair protested, "I don't want to wake anyone when we get back to the palace."

"Alistair," Maric turned to him, "learn when you're beaten." They both watched Teagan heave Cailan out of the room and towards the door of the Pearl. Alistair hoped the cold night air would help in sobering his brother. "Thank you for stepping in." Maric said, not looking at him.

"You're my father and the King." Alistair explained awkwardly and shrugged. "What else what I meant to do?"

"Hm." Maric rocked on the balls of his feet, a habit Alistair also had. "Don't do it again. I don't need you to you to protect me. I'm not a frail old man."

"I... I know that."

"Cailan needs to learn he can't get away with whatever he wants," explained Maric. "If he had struck me, he would have finally learned his lesson. You stepping in and playing hero..."

Alistair clenched his hands at his side, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. Anger pushed the blood through his veins, made his ears burn and the sound of his heart beat akin to that of thunder in his ears. "I won't do it again," he told his father through gritted teeth.

"Good." Maric started walking and summoned the guards with him. "Let's get you back so you're bright for the wedding tomorrow."

Watching his father depart for a moment, Alistair released a breath he had been unaware he was holding. He gathered up the table that he had pushed aside, and also his chair setting them both straight. He tucked the other chairs underneath the table and placed each tankard on the surface in a neat group for ease of clearing. He apologised to the waitress who came to tidy as he was finishing up.

Once calmer, he ruffled his hands through his hair, and followed Maric outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and thoughts on the previous chapters.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter too! Let me know what you think! <3


	6. Chapter 6: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the wedding! And Roselyn is terrified of what's to come. And she's not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This is Part One of chapter 6. I have had to divide this chapter for purposes of length. The second part will be up in a couple of weeks. 
> 
> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr]. Who are just wonderful. :D
> 
> \- Chapter Rating: T

_Month: Bloomingtide, Summerday. Alistair and Roselyn's wedding day._

* * *

 

On the day of her wedding, Roselyn woke before dawn. Tiny slivers of light seeped through her drapes and she could hear the sound of birds beginning to wake and sing their chorus. Roo slept at the foot of her bed; a huge, heavy lump snoring with her head on her paws.

Laying in silence, Roselyn attempted to will herself back to sleep knowing the day would be long and that she would need to keep up appearances. Getting enough sleep was necessary - after all she would not have an opportunity to slip away and doze. The eyes of the whole court, as well as the people of Denerim who were sure to be out in droves, would be on her and Alistair.

Despite her best efforts, she remained awake and grew more frustrated the longer sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned in the heavy goose down covers, kicked them off, pulled them back on, tossed one pillow to the floor only to retrieve it while turn it to the cool side. Eventually she gave in and climbed out of bed, finding pacing the floor preferable to getting angry.

She wrung her hands together as she walked the same path from the door to her bedroom to her presence chamber and back again. She swept her fingers back through her hair every minute or so and felt the knot of worry gnawing in her gut, working like poison up through her veins and her nerves. Her whole body felt cold and clammy. She felt her forehead and around her neck, growing concerned that maybe she had come down with something, but realised how foolish she was being.

Nerves. That was all she was experiencing. ' _Nerves and cold feet,_ ' something her mother assured her.  Every bride felt like this on their wedding day. But that did little to comfort Roselyn's racing mind and the storm turning her stomach. More than once she felt like she would be sick and raced to her wash basin, retching only for nothing to happen while she burned with the weight of her embarrassment.

It made no sense why she felt the way she did. She liked Alistair. He was not the man she expected and was not a spoiled brat like Cailan. He could not have been more different if he tried and she liked that about him. She liked his kindness, his compassion, how honest he was with her, and that he seemed to respect her as a person. He was willing to learn about each other and work at their marriage. She believed she could love him in time and that they could be happy. She wondered if he felt the same? Was he also pacing back and forth in his rooms with a dead weight in his belly and unable to decide if the feelings churning inside him were good or bad?

After what might have been hours, Eleanor came into Roselyn's room to make a start on getting her ready. Roselyn, settled in the window seat with a book, got to her feet and almost collapsed into her mother's embrace. She buried her face against clothes her like a small, frightened child.

For once, Eleanor did not chide her or make some sniping comment. She smoothed a hand across Roselyn's hair and kissed the crown of her head.

"To be nervous is normal, my sweet one," Eleanor shushed her gently. She leaned back a little and Roselyn lifted her head. Her chin quivered and Eleanor wiped away a few tears that had spilled down her cheeks. Roselyn told herself that they were caused by her tiredness and nothing else. "We're both up now," Eleanor tucked Roselyn's hair behind her ears. "I'll call for a bath to be drawn and we'll eat something while that's being done, alright? One thing at a time."

Roselyn shook her head, "I don't think I can."

"You must try to eat something, sweetheart," Eleanor told her kissing her brow. "It will be a long day and you'll need to keep your strength up."

"Were you like this when you were getting married?"

Her mother's lips twitched into a wistful smile. "I had my fears," she admitted, brushing her thumbs across Roselyn's cheeks. "I think I tried to sabotage my own wedding by feigning illness, I was so afraid."

Roselyn snorted softly, feeling the pressure on her shoulders lift a little. Eleanor treated her to a motherly smile and teased Roselyn's hair back over her shoulders. She took her hand, leading her through one chamber and into the one used for dining.

Eleanor sent for food to be brought to them and instructions for a bath to be drawn. Servants came and went, carrying buckets of steaming water while Roselyn nibbled on a few pieces of blackened toast and bacon. Her mother clucked and tried to get her to eat more, piling food onto Roselyn's plate. Whenever Eleanor turned away Roselyn snuck a few scraps to Roo to make it appear that she was eating.

By the time she was in her bath, Anora arrived along with the lead seamstress who would make any last minute alterations to Roselyn's dress. A handful of ladies-in-waiting who would be accompanying her, Anora, and Eleanor in the carriages to the Chantry arrived not long after.

The bathwater was scalding but Roselyn scrubbed herself raw, hidden away in her tub by a folding screen. Her mother washed her hair vigorously and dried it, brushing sweetly scented oils through it in order to make it easier to style.

Once she was bathed, Roselyn changed into her gown. Both Anora and Eleanor helped in fastening her stomacher and tying her corset to cinch in her waist just that much more. The seamstress tied off a few loose threads and made sure a few loose pearls and diamonds were securely sewn into place. Eleanor styled Roselyn's hair while she watched in the mirror on her vanity. She piled most of it up onto her hair, leaving a few tendrils and ringlets down to frame her face. After that, Anora fixed her veil into place with a hair comb and Roselyn fastened her necklace with trembling hands.

By the time she was ready, the whole palace was awake and Roselyn could hear the crow of people outside the palace grounds itching to catch a glimpse of her.

"The King and the Princes are already at the Chantry," Eleanor explained as she led the way through the palace towards the main doors and the carriage which waited for them. "Your father is there too, and your brother."

"What about Oriana? And Oren?" Roselyn inquired. She hoped to see her brother the day before but was kept in her rooms all night and denied visitors; an old tradition for the bride and groom to avoid seeing each other.

"They are there too," Eleanor assured her. "I'm sure you'll have a chance to see them all before the ceremony."

Roselyn climbed into the carriage feeling embarrassed as the servants and maids all curtsied to her and dropped their gazes. Eleanor climbed in to sit beside her, and Anora sat opposite them both. The other ladies accompanying them travelled in a carriage behind theirs. Roo remained at the palace until everyone returned for the wedding banquet and subsequent celebrations.

Having not been out into Denerim since the visit to the Alienage, Roselyn was not aware of the decorations and work going into making the city fit for a royal wedding. She was stunned as she peered out of the carriage windows, staring at the awning hanging from shop windows and the roofs of houses. The cobble streets were strewn with flowers and grasses, dulling the sound of the four horses that drew the carriages. People lined the streets, cheering and waving and Roselyn knew they would still be there when she and Alistair made the return journey together and their cheers would be louder.

Being summer, the trees were in full bloom, some of the flowering and beginning to bear fruit. Denerim even smelled different than how she remembered it. She could make out the aroma of fresh baked bread and all kinds of flowers filling the air. The tolling of the Chantry bells she heard from the palace grew louder and louder the closer they got. It was enough to make Roselyn feel giddy and forget the terror clutching and swiping at her stomach.

She was ushered into the Chantry through a side door and hidden away in a small room to wait until the ceremony began. While being moved from the carriage to the room, she was able to glimpse the people in the Chantry. Sisters were shuffling about, making sure people were seated and comfortable, and a choir was warming up to one side of the altar. No sign of Alistair, though Roselyn considered perhaps that was a good thing.

The room she was placed in came only with a desk with a mirror, a chair, and a few piles of books. Both Anora and her mother left to assist with organizing things in the belly of the Chantry, leaving Roselyn alone with her thoughts and the ever present curdling of nerves and fear in her stomach. The little food she consumed for breakfast tried to reappear several times, forcing Roselyn to sit and dangle her head as low as her constricting corset and stomacher would allow. She found it difficult to breathe and every time she examined her reflection in the old oval mirror on the desk, she noticed her skin looked grey.

She put serious consideration into fleeing the Chantry and racing through the streets of Denerim in her gown. The reality of the situation finally dawned on her: that she was getting married to someone she had only known a few months. She liked Alistair and in the little time they knew each other she found herself caring and growing fond of him  - but the fact still remained they were still as good as strangers  and this wedding, their match was not something either of them had come to on their own.

Feeling her chest constrict with a new flood of panic and nausea, Roselyn began to pace the small room from one wall to the other, dragging the train of her dress with her so she didn't step on it when she turned. She pressed her free hand to her stomach, trying to calm herself by breathing normally. She wished her mother or Anora had stayed with her; she wanted someone to talk her down from the dread and convince her everything would be fine.

When the door to the room opened, Roselyn managed not to fling herself into the arms of whomever was entering. She did not want to alarm some elderly Chantry sister or humiliate herself by throwing herself at the King or Cailan.

"Rosie!"

Hearing her brother's voice, Roselyn almost started weeping with relief. Fergus waited until his wife and son were both in the room before he swept Roselyn up in a tight hug.

"Fergus!!" she cried against his shoulder as he picked her up and swung her around. She clutched tight to him, inhaling deeply. He smelled of Highever:  the thick lavender bushes that littered the grounds, the limestone quarry, and the cool dampness she remembered. Hugging him was like being home. She dug her fingers into the shoulders of his jerkin, relinquishing her grip only when her feet touched the floor and Oren jostled between them.

"Look at you!" Fergus exclaimed watching as Roselyn embraced Oren.

"Look at you!" retorted Roselyn getting to her feet and grinning through her tears. "Oren, you're so tall!" When she left Highever Oren had come up to her hips and in the three months he now stood almost at her waist.

"I can ride a real horse now!" he boasted, puffing his chest out with pride. "He's almost as big as father's!"

"Really!" Roselyn widened her eyes. "You'll be running the castle soon." A small whimper grabbed her attention and her eyes fell to a small bundle cradled in Oriana's arms. "Oh!"

"It's good to see you, Rose," Oriana embraced her in a soft hug, the two of them careful not to crush the swaddled babe between them. "You're looking well."

"Ignore me!" Roselyn snorted her focus on the child. "No one told me you'd had the baby."

Oriana smiled, "This is Frances."

"She's beautiful," sniffled Roselyn, "Maker, I had no idea."

"I wrote to Father and Mother when she was born," Fergus informed her coming to his wife's side. Roselyn watched him as his dark eyes glazed with pure adoration down at his daughter. He pressed a kiss to Oriana's temple. "I thought you would want to know but... I imagine they didn't tell you because they didn't want to draw focus away from all... this." He gestured vaguely.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?"

"You _are_ marrying a Prince," Fergus teased.

"Will you be Queen?" asked Oren. "Would that make me a Prince?"

Roselyn chuckled the fear and panic she had been feeling beginning to melt away. "I'll be Princess-Consort, not Queen."

"So... I won't be a Prince?"

"Afraid not," Roselyn shook her head and smoothed her hand over her nephew's neatly styled light brown hair. "You'll have to settle for being Teyrn of Highever eventually." Oren pouted at that and crossed his arms across his chest. "Speaking of Highever, how is it?"

"It's fine. All the walls are still standing, just as you left it. Ser Gilmore asks after you most days. Nan misses you, though she would swear to Andraste she didn't." Fergus laughed, patting Roselyn on the shoulder. "Arl Howe came to visit from Amaranthine with his wife; I don't think he knew father was away so I imagine we'll be entertaining him again soon." Fergus rolled his eyes. "You don't miss it _that_ much, do you? I would think the palace here would be more exciting."

"Highever is home," Roselyn remarked, growing melancholy at the thought of the people she knew and the place she grew up. "It will always be my home. Of course I miss it. I'd trade a thousand Denerim palaces for Highever."

Fergus cocked an eyebrow, "Strong words." Both he and Roselyn looked at each other. Since their childhood they were able to read each other when they were upset or angry. Roselyn watched him examining her face for any sign of pain or fear, any upset. She couldn't mask her emotions from him, so didn't try. His mouth quirked to one side and he stepped towards her to hug her again. "You're always going to be welcome at Highever, you know that."

"I know," Roselyn nodded against the material of his jerkin, fighting back the tears stinging behind her eyes and the uncomfortable tingle in her nose. "And the palace isn't so bad."

"Even when you're married. You can make an excuse and just come home. You can write to me," Fergus pressed his forehead to hers. "If you don't like it here I will storm the palace and get you. If he's unkind to you or--"

"He won't be," Roselyn protested, coming to Alistair's defence swiftly. "The Prince... Alistair is..." She nibbled her bottom lip, "he's not what I expected. He wouldn't harm me or be callous. I don't think he has a cruel bone in his body."

"Rosie..."

"It's just the prospect of being here alone. Mother and Father return to Highever in a few weeks. I don't know when I'll see any of you again," explained Roselyn, trying to smile in order to comfort and convince her brother and herself. "And I'm nervous... scared, about today. I'm a knot of worry. Don't mind me."

"The Prince seems very nice," Oriana spoke up. Roselyn moved away from Fergus to look at her. "We met at breakfast this morning. He's... very taken with you."

"You spoke to him?" asked Fergus arching a brow. "You didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask," Oriana replied with the sweet disarming smile Roselyn had seen her use on Fergus many times before. Turning her attention back to Roselyn, Oriana continued. "Honestly, he talked about you endlessly. Could not flatter you enough."

"Oh."

A knock on the door alerted them all to another presence. As it opened, Bryce Cousland popped his head around the door. "Everything is about ready," he informed Fergus. "You need to go and sit down."

"Alright," Fergus nodded and lay a hand on Oren's shoulder. "Come on, you." He guided his son towards the door as Bryce held it open.

Oriana quickly embraced Roselyn again. "We'll talk more later," she told her, grasping her hand. Something rough crinkled in Roselyn's palm. She curled her fingers around it as Oriana followed Fergus out of the room and Bryce came in.

He stood in silence for a few seconds his gaze wandering over Roselyn's face and dress. She noticed his eyes beginning to mist and shook her head.

"No, don't you dare," she prodded his chest with her finger. "If you start crying, I'm going to cry."

Bryce scoffed, "I'll try not to then!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a short bark of laughter "You look so beautiful, Roselyn." Roselyn mimicked him as he took a long, deep breath to steady his emotions. "Are you almost ready?"

"I think so," Roselyn nodded, "let me just..." She turned to the mirror to examine her reflection. She tidied a few stray strands of hair out of her face and pinched her cheeks to bring colour to them. She mopped underneath her eyes which were a little bloodshot from her crying.

She unfolded the small piece of parchment Oriana sneaked into her hand as she had left. The words written were in Alistair's now familiar handwriting, but a little more rushed and scrawled than she was used to.

_'I couldn't sleep. I've been trying and just can't get back to sleep. My hands are shaking, sorry if my writing is bad. I can't talk to you until after the wedding, I wish we could at least see each other. I think I would feel less terrified if I saw your face. And I am terrified. I thought I was all ready for today but... Maybe you're feeling the same too? I want to promise you that I will do everything I can to make you happy. I wanted to make sure you knew that. See you at the altar.  
-Alistair' _

Reading the words once and then again, Roselyn stifled a soft chuckle and folded the paper. She slid it up her sleeve where the lace and gems obscured it against her arm. She found it funny that he felt the need to assure her that his intention was to make her happy. They both wanted to make each other happy and make this arranged marriage work. It would take more time for them to get to know each other and grow completely comfortable, but it could be done.

Smoothing her hands down her bodice, Roselyn steadied herself with a long breath to calm the raging butterflies in her stomach. Her fear and panic were almost gone, tiny voices which she could hardly hear now, when that morning they had been violent yells. She felt lighter having seen Fergus and read Alistair's note however brief helped in settling her worries.

Bryce came up behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. He looked at her in the mirror and Roselyn smiled back. "You don't have to do this, you know," he told her. Roselyn's eyes widened a little and she turned to face him. "If you don't want to. We can call it all off, if that's what you want."

"Where was this three months ago?" She asked, lifting a brow. "Why the change of heart? Have you and the King had a falling out?"

"No, nothing like that," Bryce gave a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping as if under an invisible weight. Roselyn cocked her head to one side waiting for her father to explain. "It's just... seeing you in a wedding dress, about to get married. It's... harder than I expected."

Roselyn squinted, treating her father to a sceptical gaze.

"Don't look at me like that." He half-smiled. "You're my only daughter. My pup. My only Rose to bloom in Highever... Giving you to someone to marry, to see you become a wife and a mother one day... Allow an old man a moment of sentimental weakness."

"You aren't losing me," Roselyn told him, "I'm still your daughter."

"But you'll be someone's wife."

"I can't be both?"

Bryce chuckled. "You always were sharp." He tapped the end of her nose with the tip of his finger.

"In all seriousness... I want to do this." Roselyn explained, briefly shrugging her shoulders and looking at her father squarely. "Not for you, not for Mother. For me. For Alistair. I like him. I _know_ he'll be a good husband. I'll be a good wife. We'll be happy."

Bryce examined her face for a few moments, his gaze flicking between her eyes and down as if memorizing her features. He took a deep, steadying breath, cleared his throat and nodded once. "Come along then my beautiful, clever girl." He lifted her veil over her face and made sure it hung straight. "We shouldn't keep the Prince waiting, pup."

Bryce offered his arm and Roselyn tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow following him out of the small room. As they stood at the main doors of the Chantry, Roselyn counted the beats of her heart in an effort to keep herself calm. She could just hear the sound of the Chantry bells and the choir over her heart racing in her chest. She was almost certain those congregated could hear the sound as she walked in tandem with her father down the aisle towards the altar.

Alistair stood with his back to her and Roselyn noticed him rocking on the balls of his feet; a behaviour of his that she was accustomed to seeing. Glancing around the guests, she saw Anora and her mother, Oriana, Oren, and Fergus all standing watching her. The eyes of courtiers followed her every movement. She knew that this day would be gossiped about and not one thing should go wrong. In front of the altar was the Revered Mother, an elderly woman in rich Chantry robes embellished with the familiar sunburst.

The choir came to a stop as Roselyn and Bryce reached the front of the Chantry. In a silent gesture meant to symbolise the willingness of Bryce to hand Roselyn over to her new husband, he took Alistair's hand and held it out to Roselyn, and then guided her to take Alistair's hand. She noticed as she squeezed his fingers that he was shaking and that he squeezed back just as tightly, clinging to her as if needing to be grounded.

The Revered Mother addressed Bryce, her voice resonating around the Chantry for all in attendance to heard. "Do you, Bryce Cousland, willingly give this woman, your daughter, to this man as his wife, in the eyes of the Maker and Andraste, His bride?"

"I give her to him with my blessing. In the eyes on the Maker and Andraste, His bride," Bryce recited his words and stepped away to join Maric and Eleanor.

As the congregation took their seats, Alistair and Roselyn turned towards each other. Roselyn stared at their joined hands through her veil for a few moments, gulping hard as Alistair smoothed his thumb across her knuckles in an effort to be comforting.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze following the line of his arm in his smart off-white doublet. He wore a baldric and sash of dark crimson diagonally across his chest and around his waist, fastened at the shoulder with a pin in the shape of the Theirin lion sigil. She noticed his high collar was open one button too many, probably so he could breathe and swallow his own fears. His beard was trimmed and his hair cut, making it neater. She noticed a slight bruising around his eye and a healing cut over one eyebrow. What caught and held her attention the most was how he looked at her and smiled. He was beaming, almost glowing with pride. His eyes were soft as he tried to examine her through the lace of her long veil. If he was nervous, he did not show it and Roselyn found the longer she saw him smiling, the more at ease she felt.

The ceremony passed with several verses being sung from the Chant of Light. The Revered Mother leading the ceremony guided them through the parts they needed to know with kindly gestures and gentle calmness, clearly aware of how nervous they both were. Those congregated repeated what they had to repeat, they sang what they were instructed to sing and when it came to the vows and exchanging rings, Cailan was on hand to give them to Alistair.

The vows were the only spoken part of the ceremony that Roselyn needed to memorise. They were the part she was dreading the most, afraid she would stumble over her words or rush through them. As she slipped a simple band of gold onto Alistair's finger and he slid a matching band onto hers, he gave her hand a gentle press in the centre of her palm as a hint for them to begin.

As he lifted her veil to reveal her face to him, they spoke their vows in unison;

 _"You cannot possess me for I belong to myself_  
_But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give._  
_You cannot command me, for I am a free person_  
_But I shall serve you in those ways you require_  
_and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand."_

They moved closer together, clasping their left hands together as the Revered Mother began to bind them with the woven length of reed. Alistair's smile grew; Roselyn could practically feel his excitement flowing off him in waves and fought the urge to giggle.  
  
_"I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,"_

Roselyn managed not to laugh at the implications behind the vow, though a few chuckles tumbled out of her mouth. Alistair practically shook, fighting the same urge to laugh.  
  
_"And the eyes into which I smile in the morning._  
_I pledge to you the first bite from my meat,_  
_And the first drink from my cup._  
_I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care,_  
_And tell no strangers our grievances."_

The Revered Mother tightened the knot around their hands. Roselyn's cheeks felt warm from depth and intimacy of the words they were speaking. Alistair's fingers slipped between hers, an innocent gesture which made the butterflies in her stomach resume.  
  
_"This is my wedding vow to you._  
_This is a marriage of equals._  
_And beyond this, I will cherish and honour you through this life, and into the next."_

As their words drew to a close Roselyn realised they had moved towards each other without noticing. There was barely a gap between them. The two of them so close Roselyn could rise onto her toes and press a kiss to Alistair's mouth unobstructed. She clenched her free hand at her side, digging her fingernails into her palm. She willed the Revered Mother to finish her closing blessing. The memory of Alistair's lips against hers from the day before suddenly flooded into Roselyn's mind, making her impatient. She wanted to kiss him again, to be free to kiss him when she desired and for him to be free to kiss her.

"In the eyes of the Maker, Andraste, and all those gathered here, I pronounce you married."

Roselyn had only a moment to register the Revered Mother's words before Alistair cupped her face in his free hand and pressed an eager kiss to her lips. She giggled, her heart fluttering in her chest and wound her loose hand up over his cheek, curling her fingers around his ear. Applause rippled through the congregated crowd and Alistair pulled away to press his forehead to Roselyn's.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he told her meeting her gaze. "Absolutely breath taking."

"Thank you." Roselyn blushed and gently touched the bruise around his eye. "What happened? You didn't have this yesterday."

"It's a long story," Alistair admitted with a quick smile and another brief brush of his lips on hers. "I'll tell you later."

There was no time for them to say anything more as both Cailan and Maric started to usher them down the aisle towards the open doors of the Chantry. They almost ran to the exit, any words of congratulations drowned out by the shouts and applause of their guests. Outside the atmosphere was much the same. Alistair stopped them at the top of the steps of the Chantry, pausing the wave to those who had been waiting to catch a glimpse of them both on the way back to the palace. They were quickly joined by Cailan, Anora, Maric, and Roselyn's parents and the cheering of Maric's people grew thunderous.

Holding tight to Alistair's hand, Roselyn allowed him to lead her to the waiting carriage. He helped her up the up into it and sat beside her, then resumed his waving with her. When the horses started to move off, the carriage jolted a little and Alistair positioned his hand at the small of Roselyn's back to keep her steady. It was an unconscious move that made her flush.

The carriage wound through the streets of Denerim, taking the longest route back to the palace so everyone who turned out to celebrate got a chance to see the newlywed couple and offer their congratulations. Bouquets and wreathes of wild flowers were strewn in the path of the carriage, while reeds and grasses were spread out to soften the ground. Urchins ran alongside the carriage a few feet at a time, cheering, whooping, and applauding along with everyone else who had come out to see them. A small contingent of guards trailed behind the carriage on horseback, a measure of security in case anything went awry.

Teagan was waiting on the steps of the palace with Roo when Roselyn and Alistair's carriage arrived. The King, Roselyn's family and all the guests went straight to the palace from the Chantry. They were already within, waiting for the bride and groom to arrive so the festivities could continue long into the evening.

Alistair lifted Roselyn down from the carriage the same way he lifted her down from her horse when they rode together. She braced her hands on his shoulders until her feet where steady on the ground and laced her fingers through his as they climbed the steps towards Teagan who waited for them.

"Your Highnesses," he bowed low to them both. "Take a moment to catch your breath before we go to the hall, if you need to." He offered a kind smile and turned to walk inside leaving the two of them for a brief moment. Alistair led Roselyn inside and to one of the corners of the entrance hall, away from prying eyes and ears - a moment of privacy for the two of them.

They had not spoken more than a few words to each other throughout the whole carriage ride to the palace; just the occasional comment here and there about the crowds and how Denerim had been decorated for the celebration. Roselyn grasped Alistair's hands in hers and smiled, feeling a little gawkish and silly. She was unable to think of anything to say now they had the opportunity.

"So..." Alistair stroked his thumbs over her knuckles, his touch lingering for a moment on the gold band around her finger. "That was relatively painless."

"No huge disasters," agreed Roselyn, "I think we came away unscathed."

"Phew," he breathed out in a rush, grinning. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," Roselyn told him with a small smile. "I think the next bit is the real challenge."

Alistair nodded. "Definitely. Now we have to make small talk. I'm not very good at small talk."

"We'll manage."

"Did you get my note?"

"Yes." Roselyn wriggled one hand free to point at it tucked safe in her sleeve. "You didn't have to write me a note, though I appreciate the gesture."

"I needed to do something to keep my hands busy this morning," Alistair explained, "I was going insane. I think I was up before the birds."

A short laugh tumbled from between Roselyn's lips. She felt a small sense of relief to know she was not the only one who had been awake before it was light. "I'm glad to know I wasn't alone being awake so early."

Alistair inched towards her, dropping his head enough to press their foreheads together. Heat flooded Roselyn's cheeks, her eyes focusing on his lips for a moment before flickering up to his warm eyes on hers. "Would you... I mean--" Alistair cleared his throat, "it's just... we-- we're alone. And... we... won't be alone again for a few hours. I don't want to be assuming, but... wo-would it be... could I... uhm, that is--"

Unable to stand the closeness of him and not being kissed, Roselyn removed the space between them, tilting her head and pressing her lips to his. For a brief moment Alistair was tense, then he relaxed into her kiss, his lips moulding against hers in a new, unfamiliar but exciting way. A steady warmth simmered in Roselyn's belly and she pressed herself against him, blocking any space. Alistair lay one hand at the small of her back, the other rising. Fingers trailed up over her bare shoulder and neck making her skin prickle. He curled tendrils of her hair around her ear, sliding his thumb across her jaw tempting her to arc her head back.

Roselyn tightened her hands into fists on his clothes, gripping them to keep upright. She opened her mouth slightly, sweeping one hand up into Alistair's hair bringing him closer still. A pleasant ache began to throb between her thighs only increasing when Alistair nudged his leg between hers. She curled her fingers through his hair at the base of his skull and pulled away, breathing deep to quell the intoxicating thrill which settled over them for the moment.

She noticed Alistair was panting, his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed as he fought to regain his senses. Teasing her fingers around his hair, Roselyn pressed a more chaste kiss to his mouth and then a second, brief kiss to the end of his nose.

"Maker's breath," he exclaimed, his voice hoarse with wanting. He opened his eyes, his lips curling into a smile. His pupils were dilated and his irises appeared darker. Alistair licked his bottom lip. "That was..."

Roselyn nibbled her bottom lip for a moment, worried she overstepped her bounds by being so amorous so soon. She felt a sense of bravado - a desire to be flirtatious with her new husband. She knew what they were expected to do that night, to sleep together and consummate their marriage. She wanted to tease him, despite being only too aware of her own uneasiness. She hoped that if she teased him it might make things easier later on when they were alone with the duty they had to complete.

"I just... wanted to give you something to uhm... _think_ about." She mumbled.

Alistair cocked his head, "To think about?"

She nodded, failing to fight the flush staining her face and neck. "Before tonight." She looked directly at him so he could not mistake her meaning. A glimmer of shock flickered across Alistair's face. Roselyn's stomach dropped to her feet and her courage began to fail, replaced by a cold, creeping shame. She was being brazen, too bold. It was unbecoming. She kissed his cheek, clasped his hand, and led him inside.

When they entered the main hall, all the dancing and talking came to a stop and was replaced by loud, steady applause. Situated at the high table was Maric with Cailan and Anora on one side and Bryce and Eleanor on the other. Roselyn saw Fergus in the crowd with Oriana and Oren with some other children nearby. Alistair pressed his lips to Roselyn's cheek, and led her to the elevated canopy where they would be sitting for the feasting and entertainment. Music and conversation resumed smoothly, as if their entrance never happened. Roo climbed the steps of the canopy and sat on her haunches by Roselyn's skirts, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Food was served to all the guests, laid out at the top table and on the tables lining the walls of the hall. Rich foods were served, venison and boar freshly hunted and slaughtered the day before. A roast peacock was revealed as the main dish to thunderous applause, its feathers still intact and ornately designed over the succulent bird.

Guests danced and made merry, many of them approaching the wedding canopy to talk to Alistair and Roselyn. Roselyn only knew most of the courtiers by their face and not their name, but Alistair was on hand to be as smooth and conversational as possible with each of them. She lost count of the amount of times they were congratulated and how many people complimented them on the ceremony and the vows they recited to each other. Blessings were offered, and several men and women of nobility were bold enough to ask Alistair if he could arrange a meeting with Maric for them after the celebrations concluded.

Roselyn was amazed at how well Alistair dealt with each request. He was polite but firm; he made it clear he was not going to be a push over and that those asking for favours were better off approaching Cailan or Maric directly. She noticed through the course of the banquet that he would reach for her hand at regular intervals and she would reach for his to hold, squeeze, and caress, a comforting gesture in amongst the sea of faces and voices and words.

The few times Roselyn managed to speak to her parents, she was quickly distracted by someone else vying for her attention. She managed a dance with her father and with Fergus, and to get through uncomfortable dances with both Maric and Cailan. She was at least grateful that Alistair had to dance with her mother who, it seemed could not stop crying.

Several hours into the celebration after the sun had set and the moon was slowly rising, Roo disappeared from the elevated wedding canopy, bored by it all. Roselyn, who was sitting speaking to Oren and Oriana excused herself quickly and went to seek out her dog, glad to get away from the noise and bustle of the hall for a few minutes.

Roo disappeared through a door which Roselyn knew led towards the kitchens and the servants quarters - her dog undoubtedly drawn by the smell of food still being prepared for more feasting. It was a part of the palace Roselyn only ventured into once or twice with Anora and Alistair. The hallway was dark, illuminated by a few candles sitting tall on iron candelabra. Roo had not ventured far and Roselyn found her scratching and sniffing at the door which led down to the kitchens.

"Come on you." She wrapped a hand around Roo's collar to guide her away. "If I can get through today, you can."

Roo whined and stood fast, staring up at her mistress with baleful eyes.

"I'll make sure the kitchen save some bones for your to gnaw on." She bargained dropping to Roo's level and ruffling her ears. "Deal?"

Roo barked, her whole back end shaking as she wagged her stub of a tail.

"Good. Now let's go before we're both missed." As she got to her feet, Roselyn became aware that she and Roo were no longer alone in the hallway. She wasn't sure what caused it, but an uncomfortable sense of disquiet rippled up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Roo's tail stopped wagging and her body became still. She dropped into a more aggressive stance, a low growl of warning rumbling in her chest.

Turning, Roselyn suddenly knew why she felt so unnerved and uneasy. Cailan followed her from the main hall and stood leaning against the wall, goblet in hand. Every time she had seen him since the wedding he was drinking and it showed in the way he swayed on his feet when he pushed off from the wall to stand and approach her. He swaggered towards her, gaze roaming up and down her body in a way which made Roselyn feel sick and her skin feel too tight on her body, even clammy. She lay the flat of her hand against Roo's head to keep her steady and held her breath.

Without speaking, Cailan closed the space between them, moved his goblet from one hand to the other and lifted his free hand. He traced his fingers up Roselyn's arm and across her bare shoulder towards her clavicle and the swell of her breasts. His skin was cooler than Alistair's and felt almost sticky on her flesh. Roselyn kept her eyes forward and breathed deeply in an attempt to focus her mind. A shudder ripped across her body when Cailan blew a long, cool breath out from between his lips and onto her skin, sending loose strands of her hair wafting. The stench of the strong Antivan wine on his breath almost made Roselyn gag.

"A shudder of anticipation?" Cailan leered at her, droplets of wine cling to his lips which strayed uncomfortably close. He drew the tips of his fingers further along the smooth flesh of her shoulder and brushed the sharp angle of her collarbone with the flat of his thumb.

"Revulsion would be more accurate, Your Highness," Roselyn remarked with an ice cold stillness to her voice.

"Cailan." He spoke softly, his mouth purposely close to her ear, hot breath puffing onto her skin. Roselyn's skin crawled. His fingers gliding down over her skin barely dipping below the lace across her chest. "We're family now, after all."

Roselyn grabbed his hand stilling it and dug her nails into his skin as hard as she could. "Your Highness," she bit out. Cailan stood to his full height, his mouth drawing into a tight line of anger. Roselyn was willing to bet being rejected was not something Cailan experienced often. It was an experience she was happy to be introducing him to. "Remove your hand."

"No."

"Remove it. Or I will remove it for you."

Cailan's lips quirked. "I like your spirit." He leaned close, his lips brushed Roselyn's ear. She fought the rising sense of sickness in her belly. "You should come to me when my brother proves his inexperience and how unworthy of you he is."

"An offer I gladly decline," Roselyn kept her tone sweet and laced with veiled warnings. She embedded her nails into his flesh harder, hoping she was drawing blood. "I intend to be faithful to my husband. A word and concept as foreign to you as the Tevinter Imperium, I am certain." She was pleased when Cailan moved away from her, a frown in place of his lecherous grin. He removed his hand and Roselyn released him. She skin felt unclean where he had touched. "And if you touch me again, I will ensure I am the last thing you _ever_ touch."

"Are you threatening me?" he growled at her.

"Threatening?" she repeated, feigning ignorance. "I would never threaten you, Your Highness. I'm just a woman, after all." She curtsied low and looked up at him from beneath her brows. "What harm could I ever do to you that anyone would suspect me of?"

Without another word Cailan departed, the sound of his boots echoing off the stone floor. Once she was certain he was gone Roselyn reached for the wall to support herself. Her body felt weak and unsteady, her insides trembling and her heart racing like a herd of horses at full gallop. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she closed her eyes for a moment trying to centre and calm herself before having to go back out to the celebration and to all the smiling faces and well wishers. At her side, Roo gave a concerned whine and licked her hand.

She just wanted the day to be over; for it to be tomorrow so life could continue as normal. She desired peace and quiet above all things, time away from all the bustle and talking. Away from the noise and the power grabbing, from the fake pleasantries and the transparent lies. She wanted the softness of a chair or a bed and a moment alone with her thoughts.

Fingers brushed her arm and she yelped, startled. Whirling around she sucked in a breath to silence herself, managing to catch herself before becoming caught on the hem of her wedding dress.

Alistair took her hands. The smile he was wearing was gone in an instant, replaced by a tight crease of worry forming between his brows. He stepped close to Roselyn, smoothing his hands up her arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked, not bothering to mask his concern. "Maker's breath, Roselyn, you're shaking."

She forced a smile. "I'm fine," she insisted staring at his chest. She did not wish to divulge Cailan's offer or ruin Alistair's day with how his brother propositioned her. "I'm just a little worn out. It's all very..." She almost wanted to cry. The sharp sting of tears tickled behind her eyes and nose and she struggled to stop her chin from quaking.

"Overwhelming?" Alistair offered helpfully. He didn't believe her, at least not entirely, but he was also too polite and kind to push for more information. Instead, he did the one thing she didn't know she needed; he hugged her. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest and enveloped her with his whole body.

"Yes," Roselyn agreed, turning her head to hide her face in his doublet. She squeezed a few tears from the corners of her eyes, furling her fingers into the material of Alistair's clothing. "Yes. It's overwhelming." Her voice shuddered when she spoke. Alistair placed his cheek against the top of her head. He stroked her back with unassuming gentleness and waited patiently for her to compose herself.

She reasoned it was likely Alistair did believe, at least a little, that her behaviour was down to the day and how much had been happening and all the focus on the two of them. She did not have the heart to tell him the truth and did not want their first hours married to be tarnished with accusations and slander against his brother.

Breathing deep through her nose, concentrating on the sensation of her chest expanding, Roselyn felt more relaxed and ready to go back out into the hall to their guests. She leaned away from Alistair and smiled feeling foolish. In an instant the worry on his face disappeared.

"Feeling a little better?" he asked with genuine warmth and concern.

"Yes," she told him truthfully. "Thank you. I don't know what came over me."

He shrugged. "It's been a long day for all of us." He rocked on the balls of his feet for a moments, eyes down and hesitant. "We... We can..." Roselyn watched him bite the inside of his cheek, fumbling over the words he wanted to say and waited. "We could uh... that is-- My father suggested we... uhm-- we don't have to stay with the guests." He moved his gaze to Roselyn's. "If... if you don't want to."

For several long beats of silence, Roselyn missed his meaning. She squinted at him and arched a brow. To break the unease, Alistair cleared his throat. His gaze darted up to the ceiling for a moment and then back to Roselyn.

"Oh-- OH!" She gasped, catching on. "You... you mean go..." The knot in her stomach from the morning returned without warning curled tighter than ever. "Go to your-- I mean _our_ room. Now. Together."

"O-only if you want to!" Alistair reiterated. "It's up to you. I-- We can stay with the guests if you like."

"No." Roselyn shook her head. Her trepidation was back, her fear and unease chewing through her making her turn cold. She knew if they left they would go to their room. They would consummate their marriage, making everything official with their bodies as well as their words. She could feel the food she consumed being tossed and thrown about in her stomach like a ranging storm. Her knees were weak and her feet felt more like blocks of ice in her shoes. Still, she preferred the idea of being alone with Alistair in private, than being thrust into the sea of faces and voices and noise once more.

"No, let's... Let's go upstairs."

Alistair's eyes widened a fraction. "Are you sure?" he asked, "I mean-- we don't have t--" Roselyn quickly covered his mouth with her hand silencing him. She leaned up on her toes, removed her hand and replaced it with her lips against his, kissing him shyly but still feeling a tremor of giddy pleasure roll over her body. He kissed her back, mouth opening on a soft sigh and his hands spreading over her back to pull her close. Roselyn wound her arms around his neck and shoulders, yielding to his grip. Kissing him was intoxicating, it made her mind grow hazy and her skin tingled pleasantly. She liked how it felt, how his lips felt, and the way his kiss was curious but cautious, waiting for her to grant permission for it to deepen. She could - _would -_  enjoy this part of their marriage.

When she pulled away, Alistair brushed his nose against hers affectionately. His lips were slightly reddened and his eyes were shining, cheeks a little darker than the moments before. Roselyn felt giddy and excited, a deep ache beginning to pulse between her legs.

"I'm sure, Alistair," she assured him with a firm nod of her head. "Let's go upstairs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding vows are Celtic vows I saw on tumblr and then searched on Google to get the completed version. As there are no official Thedosian wedding vows, I went with something that seemed like it might be traditional. Also, the handfasting ceremony is something I thought fit Thedosian culture, it is not canon to the Dragon Age Universe.


	7. Chapter 6: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone at last with his new bride, and Alistair can only hope it won't be the disaster he imagines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 2! Thank you for being patient! Hope you enjoy the conclusion to chapter 6! :D So you are aware, the next few chapters will be divided into parts due to their length.
> 
> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, as always, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr]. Who are just wonderful and who put up with my self-depreciation and rambles.
> 
> \- Chapter rating: M, to be safe. Slight nsfw.

* * *

 

Alistair's room - _their_ room now - was different to how he left it that morning. The linens on the bed were changed and drapes were placed around the four posts. Crushed rosemary and lavender were strewn across the floor of the bedchamber, filling the room with their aroma. The covers were turned down already, petals of different flowers thrown haphazardly across the sheets. His familiar dressers were moved to make room for Roselyn's things - and she did have a lot of things. Her clothes were packed in trunks having been moved from her rooms to his - _theirs_ \- ready to be unpacked and organised in the morning.

They announced to the guests downstairs that they were retiring to their room and the sounds of cheering, celebratory laughter, and applause followed them up to the room. A mother of the Chantry was the only other occupant of the main chamber as she walked around each side of the bed to bless it. Roselyn was ushered away as soon as the door closed to change, leaving Alistair to hide behind a folding screen so he could change without the sister seeing him.

At least one of the retainers was kind enough to lay out his bed clothes. The prospect of digging through the dressers and wardrobes half-naked looking for clothes while a Chantry mother went about her business was not an attractive one.

Having unfastened the Theirin lion ornament his father insisted he wear, Alistair removed the clasp, keeping his baldric in place at his shoulder. He unwound the material from around his waist and put it to one side. He made quick work of the buttons and fastenings of his doublet and the cotton shirt he wore under that, feeling a growing weight and sense of fear with each layer he removed.

He was married. He had a wife. He was a husband now.

_Married. Wife. Husband._

The words sounded strange and foreign just to think them.

He found it funny just how fast everything had happened. He could hardly remember anything about the ceremony; when he tried to recall details everything was just a blur to him. That he got through it successfully and had not made a fool out of himself, Roselyn, or his father was nothing short of a miracle as far as he was concerned.

It was at the very least a nice ceremony. The feasting and celebrations afterwards were enjoyable and he was told by his father that fireworks - brought in specifically for the celebration from Rivain - were going to be set off at midnight. He hoped to still be awake for that. Even Cailan behaved himself and even though Alistair danced with more people than he cared to think about, he managed not to trip or make awkward and bumbling conversation.

Of course all of that meant very little now he and his new wife were alone.

"Wife." Alistair said the word peering at his reflection in the mirror while he ruffled his hand through his hair. "Wife." He repeated, making a face at himself. "Wiiiiiife." He felt the word roll off his tongue, frowning at his reflection. "Yes, this is my wife." He gestured to the space beside him, imagining Roselyn there. "May I present, my wife?"

From beyond the screen he heard the Chantry mother stifle a soft chuckle. Alistair rubbed his hands down his face, groaning into his palms. The worry he felt before and during the ceremony were nothing in comparison to the utter terror he felt now. No matter how many times he rubbed his hands on his breeches they remained cold and clammy. He was sweating, despite his - _their -_ room being cool and every time he heard a door close somewhere his heart jumped began to race or just leapt into his throat, choking him.

Cailan's outburst the night before gave him things to think about. His brother was right on one thing: Alistair was inexperienced. He knew before Cailan married Anora, he had already bedded a few of the serving girls in the palace, so he had experience and knew at the very least what he was doing on his wedding night.

Alistair never had that, despite the many and consistent offers made to him. More than a handful of young, attractive women who worked in the palace or in the fields and farms in the surrounding countryside had presented themselves or been presented to him, but he refused every time. Cailan always teased him for it, for he was a Prince who could have any girl he wanted but decided to wait.

At least, he hoped Roselyn was as blind as he was to what they would have to do.

And he knew what was expected of them. He knew enough from reading books late at night that would make his tutor's beard blush and from listening into conversation of the guards and stewards of the palace as they boasted their exploits and their conquests. And of course being privy to Cailan's graphic boasting. But hearing about it and doing it were two very different things.

He was terrified of being all hands, of fumbling and the whole experience being a disaster. He wanted to make Roselyn feel good. _He_ wanted to feel good, but most of all her. He wanted her to be comfortable and happy and not feel like he was taking advantage. They were married now, yes, but that didn't mean he expected her to surrender to his every whim and desire.

One of the reasons he liked Roselyn so much was that she had a personality. That she _did_ stand up for herself and have her own opinions. He liked that about her, about how cool and collected she was. He enjoyed her attitude towards the frivolities of court life and the way she viewed Cailan with a discerning eye - not taken in by his flirting or charm. He didn't want her to suddenly become meek and subservient to him.

 _This is a marriage of equals._ They had both promised in their vows, and he wanted it to remain that way.

"Your Highness?" The mother called for him, making him jump a little in surprise.

"Coming," he called back, quickly stripping out of his dress boots and trousers. He pulled on a more comfortable and lighter cotton pair of breeches he wore in bed and yanked a loose shirt on over his head. He felt his whole body shuddering, all his nerves quivering under his skin as he checked his appearance in the mirror one more time and stepped out from behind the screen.

Roselyn was already in the room with the two attendants carefully folding up her wedding dress and veil behind her. She had changed into a sleeveless night gown lined with lace to combat the summer heat, the neck line a sharp V-shape was cut down low enough to give a tantalising view of the swell of her breasts. The cotton material hung from her shoulder skimming passed the waist but clinging to her hips until it stopped just above her knees. She kept her eyes down, her hands before her clasped so tight that he knuckles were the same colour as her night dress. One of the attendants had released her hair and brushed it so it draped over her shoulders and down her back.

Realizing he was staring, Alistair flushed and gulped to dampen his throat. He approached, stumbling a little on a foot stool in his eagerness to get close to his new bride. Both Roselyn and the mother chuckled and Alistair felt the heat of embarrassment burning his face and neck.

Holding out his hand to Roselyn, he waited for her to take it, watching her small, slight fingers slide into his palm where he furled his fingers around hers and held tight. He could feel her heart beat in her palm against his, thundering like a heard of horses as fast as his.

"Wi-" he stopped, his voice coming out a strangled sound. Alistair cleared his throat. "Wife?" He managed to choke out, his voice still more a cracked squeak than his usual tone.

Roselyn's lips quirked into a tiny smile, her grey eyes lifting to meet his for a brief moment. "Husband." She inclined her head in a small, coy nod.

Alistair beamed, unable to deny the excited tremble he got when she spoke his new title. She noticed his grin with a quick glance up to him, and he watched her lips curve into a slightly wider smile.

"Kneel for the blessing, please." The Chantry sister indicated for them both to drop and they did. Roselyn's fingers tightened around his, clinging as hard as she could to him. Alistair squeezed back and bowed his head. The mother laid her a hand on Alistair's head, the other on Roselyn's and spoke. "Blessed Maker, in Your wisdom You have joined these two people together in wedded bliss. We pray You bestow upon them long life, a fertile marriage bed, the deepest love and happiness. That they love each other as well as You did love Your Bride, Andraste. Amen."

Alistair mumbled the closing to the prayer and got to his feet. For a few seconds the room was quiet, with a tension growing between the elderly priest, himself, Roselyn and the attendants who were off to the side of the room with their heads bowed.

"What?" Alistair asked when no one moved.

"Forgive us, Your Highness," began the Chantry mother, "but your father requested we three remain to ensure that you and Lady Roselyn..." She trailed with a half-hearted gesture and an awkward glance between the two of them. "That your marriage is consummated."

"He..." Alistair's eyes widened, "he what?!" He barked at her, dropping Roselyn's hand and turning to the attendants. "No."

"No?"

"Nonono!" He strode towards the frightened attendants and grabbed them both by the backs of their livery marching them forcibly towards the door. "No one is staying to make sure we... No. That's invasive and wrong." He shoved the two servants out into the hallway and rounded on the mother burning hot with shame and anger. "You can tell the King that this is private between myself and Lady Roselyn. That no one is going to witness _anything_." He pointed at the door. "Out. Please"

"But-- Your Highness--"

 ** _"OUT!"_** He shouted, jerking his finger at the door again.

The older woman squared her shoulders, meeting Alistair's gaze with one of cold, steely resolve. "Very well, Your Highness." She said, the warmth in her voice gone and replaced with dangerous coolness. "The King will be most displeased.

"The King is always displeased with me," Alistair snorted, grabbing the door frame. "He'll get over it." He pushed the door closed behind the mother with a firm, defiant slam, and quickly locked it with the key and bolted both the top and bottom locks. He sighed to loosen his shoulders and ran his hands through his hair turning back to Roselyn. "I am so, _so_ sorry!" Looking at her, he noticed her cheeks were flush and her hands were clasped up to her mouth trying to suppress her laughter. "Why are you laughing?"

"I don't know!" Roselyn giggled, grabbing a pillar of the bed to hold herself steady. "It's just a hilarious thought, your father wanted people to watch us..."

Chuckling, Alistair planted one hand on his hip and scratched the back of his neck. "I know." He laughed, "he's that desperate for a grandchild."

"There certainly is a lot of pressure on us," she leaned against the bed post, "isn't there?"

Offering a lopsided smile, Alistair crossed the room towards her and leaned his weight on the wooden frame at the foot of the bed. He noticed Roselyn moved further towards the bed post, digging her nails into the wood as if afraid of letting go.

"There is a lot of pressure," Alistair agreed nodding and sitting, giving Roselyn space. He pressed the tips of his fingers together in his lap. "It's unreasonable really."

Over the deafening silence that fell between them, Alistair could hear the music and laughter rising from the banqueting hall. He wondered what his father would say when the Chantry mother and the servants reappeared. He would be shouted at for it, probably. He would get Cailan making lurid comments to him the next day and possibly for weeks to come. He knew his brother enough to know how his mind worked. He would start with a general comment and turn it into one of sexual and inappropriate connotations.

He wondered what it would be like to sleep in the same bed with this woman, his wife. He'd never slept in a bed with someone else, and sleeping in the stables with the dogs as a child didn't count. He didn't know if he snored, or if he moved around. What if Roselyn snored? How was he going to sleep with all her hair everywhere? Wouldn't it get in the way? What if he choked on it during the night? Was it even possible to choke on someone else's hair?

Finding his mind wandering, Alistair groaned and laughed into his hands at the absurdity of it all.

He liked Roselyn, couldn't it be left at that? Why was there so much pressure? So much need and necessity for them to sleep together _today_? Why couldn't everyone wait for them to get to that point in their own time. It would happen, eventually. They _were_ attracted to each other after all. At least he thought they were. He assumed from the kiss the day before and their kisses since then that there was at least a small spark between them, unless she was just very skilled at presenting a façade.

He hoped that wasn't the case.

"The wedding was... nice." Roselyn's voice startled him and Alistair managed not to yap in surprise. She was leaning on the post of the bed, picking at the lace around the collar of her night dress. "Don't you think?" She lifted her head to look at him, tilting it to one side. The motion made her hair tumble across her shoulders. Alistair watched her chest rise and fall on steady slow breaths, noticed a faint pink blossom across her collar and creeping up her neck.

"Yes," he agreed, guiding her hand from the post. "I think it was... a good ceremony." His eyes on hers he coaxed her away from the bedpost to the foot of the bed where she sat gingerly on the edge with him. He turned towards her, tucking one leg up into a crossed position, the other dangled down his foot brushing the floor. He dropped his gaze to their hands, twisting his fingers around hers brushing the ring he had placed onto her finger. "Had you been to a wedding before?"

"No. Fergus married Oriana in Antiva without our parent's permission... I didn't get to attend their wedding." Roselyn said, her breath hitching as Alistair turned her hand over and traced his fingertips along her palm up towards her wrist. "Have you?" Her pulse quickened under his touch making him smile a little.

"Cailan and Anora's." He nodded following the length of her forearm with a light touch. He marvelled at the silken smoothness of her skin, how soft it was and unblemished. His arms and chest were littered with scars from jousts, melee tourneys, and training sessions with Cailan when he grew too intense. Hers was velvety and immaculate. Not a scar or an imperfection in sight. "It was a pretty wedding from what I remember," he explained, lifting his gaze for a brief second to see Roselyn's eyes watching his fingers. Her cheeks were darker, her lips slightly parted. He remembered her kiss on their arrival back at the palace, the promise it held and his lips tingled at the memory and with anticipation. "Not as nice as ours."

Roselyn giggled, her dimples appearing when she smiled. "Of course not."

Growing bolder, Alistair nudged closer to her body. He could only just hear himself breathing over the thudding in his ears and the rushing of his blood in his veins. His skin felt warm, too warm, and prickled pleasantly when Roselyn began to mimic his wandering fingers on his own arm with her free hand. She pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, her delicate fingernails gliding over his veins and the sensitive flesh on the inside of his arm.

He felt his breath catch in his throat the closer Roselyn grew. Inch by inch she closed the space between them until her forehead brushed his. The neck of her night dress gaped a little drawing Alistair's gaze to follow the line of her neck and shoulder, the angle of her collar bone and down. He glimpse the soft swell of her breast and looked away quickly feeling a blush explode over his face making him burn.

"You said you would tell me what happened."

"Hm?" Alistair blinked hard to focus his thoughts. "What happened where?"

Roselyn lifted her head leaving barely any space between them. If he moved his head forward Alistair knew he could capture her mouth and kiss her. And he wanted to. _Maker,_ did he want to. The hard pull in his gut made him almost desperate to feels her lips on his. He wished he could be courageous and spontaneous and kiss her right then, hard. To see what happened, if she would be receptive.

But he stopped himself. He did not want to be forceful. He did not want to frighten her off or make a fool of himself; and both were very real outcomes. He was worried if he jerked his head he would startle her. They might butt heads and then he could end up with a bloody nose. Or worse Roselyn could! That was the worst possible outcome and the one most likely to happen, given his luck. The prospect of that made Alistair blanche.

"Your eye." Roselyn's fingers shook when she brushed them across the healing cut and his bruise. Her gaze remained on his as she trailed her fingers down his face, over the contour of his cheek bone and jaw along until her fingertips caressed his mouth. Unable to stop himself, Alistair puckered his lips against her skin feeling a steady warmth begin to rise in his stomach. Roselyn's breath shuddered when she retracted her fingers.

"Cailan." Alistair remarked almost completely numb to his own voice. "He and the King were drunk. I got in the way."

"Oh."

Alistair held his breath watching as Roselyn adjusted her position. She curled her legs up underneath her and rose onto her knees. As she leaned forward Alistair's hand trembled when he lay it at her waist to keep her steady. Her skin was aflame through her thin clothing. It made Alistair's insides tighten and constrict to know there was so little between his skin and hers.

Supporting herself with one hand on his shoulder, Roselyn inclined towards Alistair and he closed his eye in reaction to the brief kiss she pressed to his injured eyebrow. She offered him a sweet, coy smile while dropping back down, the hand at his shoulder curling behind his neck, her fingers brushing through his hair.

Watching her sit opposite him, grey eyes bright and glassy in the low light provided by the candles in their room, Alistair fought to remember how to breathe. Roselyn tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing away for a moment and then back to him. She swallowed, and Alistair watched her throat move at the action. He felt the air around them pulsing, a tension building almost crushing them with its weight.

Keeping his hand at her waist stationary, Alistair slid the other into place and tilted his head back a little bit. Roselyn's breath touched his lips with each shaking exhale. He could _almost_ taste her.

"Alistair..." His name was breathy when she spoke it and Alistair's stomach clenched.

"Roselyn?"

"Rose."

"What?"

"Rose." She repeated tilted her head. Her lips brushed his. Almost a kiss, but not quite. "You may call me... Rose."

"Rose." Alistair confirmed smiling at the way it felt on his tongue. "My wife, Rose." He broke into a grin as he lips crashed into hers and her arms encircled his neck. Alistair leaned towards her, his hands sliding and pressing into her back drawing her towards him. She complied to his gesture shifting into his lap to be closer.

Alistair dug his fingers into the material of her night dress, the heat of her body seeping through the thin fabric. He tempted her closer to him, arching his head back, revelling in the way she wound her fingers through his hair and across the base of his skull. Her lips were soft and pliant to his, moulding and moving, matching each fervent kiss he supplied with one of her own. Their teeth clacked in the eagerness and inexperience of it all. She bit his tongue which made him wince. He nipped her bottom lip too hard which caused a little pained gasp from her.

As he suspected he was all hands, unsure where to put them or what do to with them. He hugged her back at first, dragging his fingers down her spine making her arch towards him. Her chest pressed tight to his and he could feel her heart thudding, matching the frantic pace of his own. He grasped her waist moving his hands at tentative increments lower following the gradual curve of her hips.

His lips began to pulse at the intensity with which she kissed him, blood rushing to them making them extra sensitive to the touch of hers. The way they felt against his made him light headed, filling him with a heady pleasure. Roselyn moved closer, draping her arms down his back. Alistair dug his fingers into her flesh, grappling for the material of her nightdress making it bunch in his hands as he pulled it up. Her fingers trailed under the hem of his shirt, dragging across the base of his back leaving enjoyable fire in their wake.

In his eagerness, Alistair whacked the back of his head against the wooden post of the bed as he tried to adjust his position to be more comfortable. He winced and quickly checked the back of his head for blood only causing a brief pause. Roselyn quickly distracted him with the soft tease of the tip of her tongue slicking across his bottom lip. Her breath jumped when he grasped her hips in his large hands pulling her down into his lap rather than over it. His stomach twisted and tightened, heat bubbling and pooling lower rushing between his legs causing excitement to stir.

Alistair found it hard to think. Hard to breathe. Hard to remember his name. He had never been kissed the way Roselyn kissed him, and he never kissed anyone the way he kissed her. Her mouth was intoxicating, overpowering, distracting, and incredible. The way her lips moved, the soft little gasps and murmurs that she made when he tightened his grip or did something she approved of. Sweeping a hand into her hair and grasping the back of her skull to angle her head, Alistair wrapped his free arm around her waist and started to move. Roselyn wrapped her arms around her neck and a moment later she was beneath him on her back, her night dress bunched at the tops of her thighs with Alistair positioned over her, one of her legs between his.

Breaking away for a few seconds to clear his mind and catch his breath, Alistair brushed her nose with his, chuckling and smiling at the brightness of her face and the way it took her a few seconds to focus her gaze on him. Her fingers curled around his hair and fisted the material of his bed shirt as regularly as she breathed. She looked surprised at her own actions, at her own gusto and the way she had been swept up in her desire. Even he was shocked at how amorous and assertive she was.

His fears were lingering at the back of his mind, the worry that he would not perform, that he would not please her, or cause her pain. He didn't want any of that, only to enjoy and explore and learn about his new wife. What she felt like to touch and to hold, what she liked, what made her moan or sigh his name. His only wish was to make her happy, to make her comfortable and feel as adored as she deserved to feel.

"Rose..." Alistair sighed easing himself over her for comfort. His erection brushed against her knee where her leg was slightly bent making him bite back a groan. His trousers were loose, but still uncomfortable as he was so confined.

"Mhm?" Roselyn took quick, sharp breaths making her chest heave. Alistair felt her breasts flush against his chest with each of her inhales.

"Is this..." He began and then closed his eyes. Roselyn wriggled underneath him sending a spark of sudden bliss shooting through his body. A violent shudder rippled over him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Beneath him Roselyn tilted her head, curious. "Do you..." He groaned in frustration, "is what we're doing alright?"

"Yes," she nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"Are you sure?"

Another nod.

Alistair leaned over her, "We don't have to..." He paused and gave a little frustrated grunt. "If you want to stop, tell me." He told her, pressing his lips to hers and feeling his heart begin to race again.

"Alright." He caught the faintest whisper of her voice as she enveloped him, her arms winding around his neck.

Alistair climbed onto his knees, tangling a hand into Roselyn's hair to angle her head. He fumbled to guide his tongue across her bottom lip and tugged on it instead with his teeth, drawing a soft sigh from her mouth. When he kissed her again her mouth was open a fraction and he timidly slid his tongue between her lips. He felt Roselyn tense against him and then relax, her tongue beginning to move against his with clumsy shyness.

Her hands wound underneath his shirt, hot palms exploring the broad plain. Her hands traced the dimples in his back, following the arch of his spine. She travelled the peaks of his shoulder blades, and the rivers and deltas of imperfections in his skin, of his veins, and the scars he had sustained over the years. Each touch was delicate and exciting, like each of her kisses as she adjusted the position of her head to kiss him differently.

His free hand drifted lower, his eagerness to touch her naked skin exciting him further and being spurred on by her enthusiastic discovery of his own body. Her fingers tickled across the sides of his torso under his shirt, mapping the ridges of his ribcage. Alistair fought not to chuckle at the sensation. He pushed the crumpled skirts of her night dress further up towards her belly his hand skimming over the flimsy small clothes she was wearing. He dragged his fingers along the outside of her trembling thigh to her knee and up again, cupping her backside and squeezing.

Roselyn made a noise, a squeal peppered with laughter, her lips tightening on his. Emboldened by her reaction, Alistair squeezed again and drove his pelvis against her mound following the instinct powering him through moment-by-moment. He groaned into her mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head at moment of sweet relief that gesture gave him. Roselyn rocked her hips when he did it a second time, and the sound he made rumbled low in his chest.

Dragging his mouth from her lips, he placed burning kisses along her jaw and down her throat, skimming his teeth against her skin. He listened to Roselyn's rushed breaths above him, felt her chest rapidly rising and falling on each one. Her fingers worked into his hair, twisting and teasing the locks. Using one hand to support his weight, Alistair groped with the other winding his fingers up over the thin material of her night dress to trace the curve of her breasts through the fabric.

He was shy, uncertain, his stomach curling and twisting around itself, knotting tighter and tighter with each new gesture he tried and new sensation he experienced. He could hardly concentrate beyond his bubbling nerves and the thrilling excitement he felt mixing together, flooding his body. Everything was new, it was all instinct. Alistair felt like his body was covered in pleasurable flames, awakening his skin and his nerves in new, exhilarating ways. The weight in his stomach descended, fueling his desire. Each brush of Roselyn's leg against the inside of his thighs or his erection Alistair took as a good sign, a signal to continue, that she approved.

Following the outline of her breasts with his fingers, Alistair brushed his thumb over a pebbled nipple, peeking out from where the neckline of Roselyn's night dress gaped. Her body jerked in reaction, a gasp and a whimper spilling out of her mouth. Alistair struggled to fight the smirk that came to his lips when she made a lower noise, a throaty moan, and kissed the swells of her breasts, cupping one within his hand, pressing her bared nipple into the palm of his hand.

Roselyn's heartbeat thundered, he could feel the steady thrum through her skin drumming hard and fast, matching his own pace. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she gave a subtle tug. Alistair followed her silent request, lifting his head to kiss her. She dug her hands into his shoulders, inhaling sharply through the corners of her mouth. Taking his weight on his forearm, Alistair curved that hand behind Roselyn's head, tangling his fingers within her hair. Below, he followed the expanse of her torso, fingers trailing over her ribcage and navel feeling her skin prickle under his touch. Roselyn shifted, hips rising off the bed, lips distracting and enchanting him as he stroked his fingers up and down the inside of her thigh.

Gently feeling along the hem of her small clothes, Alistair swallowed his fear, his nerves. He _could_ do this. He _would_ do this. Roselyn was keen, willing, more willing than he expected and he was curious to know if she had any prior experience. He too, was willing, and the more he touched, the longer they kissed, the more excited he grew. Feeling clumsy, like his hand was too big and his fingers were too thick, Alistair boldly curved his hand between Roselyn's legs cupping her heat, sliding the tips of his fingers along the damp gusset of her smalls.

A grunt of protestation escaped Roselyn's mouth as she yanked her head away shaking it from side to side, clamping her legs together. "Waitwaitstop--" A cold dread clutched at Alistair's chest like a fist, a fear that maybe he hurt her. He kneeled up to give her the space she wanted and needed, removing his hands from her body. He watched her, holding his breath while resting back on his haunches. Roselyn practically recoiled from him, pulling herself into a sitting position and tugging her night dress down and hugging her knees. Her lips were reddened and kiss swollen, her chest and cheeks stained with a dark flush. Her hair was a tangled mess through his groping and Alistair noticed she fought to catch her breath. "It's too fast. Too fast." Roselyn babbled breathlessly, pushing her face into her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this. I _can't._ "

"What's wrong?" asked Alistair resting his hands on his thighs. "Did I--"

"You didn't do anything," Roselyn cut him off. "No. Not you. It's me." She pushed her face futher into her palms, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. She brought her knees closer into her chest, curling in on herself. "I thought I could do this, I could force myself but I can't... I'm not... I can't--" Alistair watched as her shoulders began to quake and listened to her breath becoming ragged, feeling foolish and helpless. "I'm so embarrassed," sniffled Roselyn. "I'm sorry."

Alistair almost fell off his knees reaching for her. He caught himself at the last minute before his skin made contact, uncertain as to whether she would want to be touched. "Don't be sorry." Struck by an idea he climbed off the bed and went to one of the dressers towards the edge of the room. He grabbed a goblet and filled it with water from a pitcher. Roselyn was sitting on the edge of the bed when he returned. He handed it to her and noticed her hands were shaking when she tried to drink.

Sitting beside her in silence, Alistair stared at the window, at the darkened sky outside. He could see the moon slightly obscured by clouds, creating a silvery halo around them as they passed slowly over it. He strained to hear any sound from the hall, music or laughter and found he could hear nothing. He wondered if everyone had gone to bed, if they had missed the fireworks. His heart began to slow, calming to its more regular pace while his skin cooled. He pulled his shirt down over his torso from where Roselyn had pushed it to conceal his skin and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

They sat in silence for a while, Alistair listening to Roselyn breathing and as she drank small sips of water in an effort to steady herself. After some time he placed his hand at the small of her back in a tentative, comforting gesture and was relieved when she leaned into his touch and did not move away. At least she wasn't revolted or repulsed by him, that made him feel slightly less like a terrible person.

"I shouldn't have rushed you."

"You didn't." Roselyn put the goblet on a small table beside the bed. "I wanted... I thought I..." She trailed, and dragged her fingers across her face. "I ... I was enjoying... It's just when you were on top of me and ... I could _feel_ ...  and you... I didn't..." Roselyn sighed, groaning into her hand.

"Rose," Alistair inched closer hesitantly, uncertain whether she would want him closer or even if it was a good idea. She was trembling, and she was hunched over making herself look small and weak, he wanted to comfort her - that was all. When he was close enough, their thighs touching, Alistair turned to her and lightly caressed her jaw, her neck, and her shoulder careful to keep his touch soft and his eyes on her face. "I'm not angry or upset." He spoke as if he was trying to calm a frightened animal. This was not how he imagined their wedding night to go, not that he had pictured it going smoothly. His worst case scenario was one of them smacking the other in the face with an elbow or a hand and causing a bloody nose. This... Roselyn shaking, and weeping, it was worse. So much worse. Inclining his head, Alistair pressed his lips to her forehead, curving one hand behind her neck. "Please, talk to me."

Roselyn stayed silent bar the occasional sniffle, fighting to regain her composure. The trembling of her body subsided after a few minutes, and her short panicked breaths grew steadier and less frantic. Alistair waited, patient and silent. He kissed her forehead and the crown of her head a few times, while stroking his free hand up and down her arm in a way he hoped was soothing.

"I'm sorry, I..." She spoke finally, her voice small.

"Don't be sorry." Murmured Alistair, leaning back a little to give her some space. "Just... talk to me." He did not want to sound as if he was pleading, but he was. He was desperate to know he had not hurt her. "I need to know that you're all right." He brushed his thumb across her cheek, "what happened?"

Roselyn lifted her head, grey eyes watery and blood shot when she looked at him. "It got too real and I..." Biting her lip, she tangled her fingers around each other in her lap staring down at them unable to meet his gaze for longer than a moment. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

She wasn't ready.

Alistair fought the urge to smile and instead pressed a hard kiss to the top of her head. He had not hurt her. She was scared, nervous, and not ready for their relationship to be a physical one. Relief quickly flooded his senses, making the cold ice in his veins melt away and his skin grow warm. Alistair wondered if perhaps it was wrong of him to feel so pleased that the reason for her change of heart was not because of anything he had done. He banished the thought quickly, more glad that she was speaking to him. That she was calm.

"You don't feel ready either?" Alistair asked her, controlling his voice. "Forgive me, but thank the Maker for that."

Roselyn's gaze shot to his, questioning and confused. "What?"

"I've been terrified of tonight." Alistair admitted, shrugging. "There's so much pressure and Cailan has been building it up and up and up. And I would have gone through with it if you wanted to, but I've been going crazy about it for days. About what to do and if it will be right, or if I'll be any good at it, even _how_ to do it. There's not exactly a teacher you can go to." His words grew faster the more he spoke. The days of anxiety, stress, and pressure unexpectedly finding air the more he spoke. "If you're not ready for this, then we're not going to do it."

"You would have gone through with it, even if you didn't want to?" Roselyn asked him, voice and face still as a pond.

"Of course," he nodded. "I'm a Prince. It's part of the duty."

"No." Roselyn shook her head. "No, listen to me, Alistair." She grabbed his hands in hers. "We agreed we would be honest and respect each other in this arranged marriage, right? That is the only way it's going to work."

"That's right," he agreed, smiling and circling his thumbs in the palms of her hands.

"Then the same rules apply to us both. If you don't want to do something, you don't have to." Her expression was severe, her voice earnest when she spoke.

"But--"

"No buts." She furrowed her brow, her voice becoming more firm with her conviction. "I'm your wife now, you have to do what I say." She prodded the end of his nose, a little smile quirking the corner of her mouth dissipating the sternness in her words.

"Does that apply to me too, as your husband?" Alistair asked smirking and leaning towards her.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Roselyn pursed her lips. "I suppose." She chuckled and Alistair was comforted by how easy and natural it felt for them to talk and joke, that no awkwardness or confusion remained. He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and grinned.

"So, we wait?"

"We wait," agreed Roselyn.

"Sounds fair." Alistair cleared his throat and smoothed his thumb across her knuckles. After a moment, he got to his feet and began to grab pillows from the top of the bed and throw them on the floor. He lay them out, three lying vertically and one horizontally at the head. Then he gathered several blankets and coverlets to lie over the pillows. Roselyn watched him in confused silence, a brow quirking on her face when he was done and stood back to admire his handiwork. "Until you are comfortable I will sleep on the floor." He stated with a flourishing gesture at his make-shift bed.

Roselyn's eyes widened. "What?! No. No! Princes don't sleep on the floor."

"This one does."

"You can't!" she protested reaching for the pillows. He caught her hands to stop her and led her to her feet. "Alistair--!"

"Wife." He smirked down at her and she looked at him, her expression deadpan. "Will you be comfortable with me sleeping in the same bed as you?" Roselyn pouted, her eyes darting away from his and down to the floor. Alistair brought her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles and took enjoyment watching her wrestle with herself. When she didn't say anything, he chuckled. "That's what I thought." He cupped her face, lifting her head up so she looked at him. "Until you're ready, I'll sleep on the floor."

"You can't," whined Roselyn.

"Of course I can," Alistair shrugged. "I used to sleep in a stable. The floor of a palace is still luxury."

"But you're the _Prince_!" she continued to protest, forming her slender hands into small fists.

"And you're my wife," Alistair retorted taking her hands and bringing them to his mouth where he kissed her knuckles again. "Don't make me play the 'Prince' card."

She squinted at him, a half-hearted glare. "Fine." Alistair grinned and kissed the bridge of her nose, pleased at his victory. "But if you start getting cold or a bad back or something, you sleep in the bed and we'll... erect a barrier of pillows."

"Sounds fair," he agreed.

Suddenly the room was alight with a bright red glow from outside, immediately followed by a loud thunderous bang which made both Alistair and Roselyn jump. Another loud bang and a series of high-pitched screaming whistles followed the first, each one joined by shining lights of different colours lighting up the night sky. Alistair crossed to the window, grasping Roselyn's hand and they stood in silence for a few moments watching the fireworks.

"May I ask a question?" Roselyn said after a few quiet moments. Alistair turned his gaze to her to give her his attention, her eyes were still following the blinding lights outside.

"Of course."

"About before... About what you said about going through with it..." She blinked her eyes slowly and puffed her cheeks out as if trying to think how best to form her question. "Does that mean you... I mean, uhm, how do I..." She rubbed her fingers across her forehead. "Does that mean... have you never... never... uhm..."

"Never...? Never what?" Alistair teased, aware of her meaning but unable to resist the temptation to taunt her and act the fool. To make her laugh. "Had a good pair of shoes?"

Roselyn tutted, nudging him with her elbow. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," Alistair sighed leaning his head back and trying to conceal his grin. "Have I never seen a basilisk?" he suggested and shrugged. "Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?" He chortled.

"You're mocking me."

"Mocking you?" He looked at her, trying to look offended and failing. He smoothed a crease of annoyance out between her brows with his thumb. "Perish the thought." He kissed her forehead grinning and met her gaze. "Well, tell me have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?" He teased, but his throat grew dry with his question. Despite its playful tone he meant it seriously. Not that it would matter much to him if Roselyn had had sex before or not, he was only curious. He was sure he knew the answer already, that she was as inexperienced as him, but as they were discussing it he reasoned it would hurt no one to ask.

"No." Her tone was brisk when she replied. "I haven't--" she rolled her eyes and sighed, "licked a lamppost in winter. I thought _that_ was obvious."

"Good." Beamed Alistair, "I hear its very painful and--"

"You're impossible!" Roselyn shoved him and turned as if about to stomp to bed. Alistair grabbed her around the waist laughing as he pulled her against him, her back flush to his chest. She wriggled in an effort to get away but he held fast chuckling until she stopped.

"I think it's clear that I haven't had the ... pleasure." Alistair told her, pressing his mouth to the crown of Roselyn's head. "Not that I haven't thought about it."

"Oh?" She tilted her head back, leaning her back comfortably against his bulk. "Why didn't you act on it? You must have had plenty of women throwing themselves at you. Being a Prince and... somewhat attractive."

"Somewhat?"

"Ish." Roselyn blushed "To some people, I suppose."

"You think I'm handsome." Alistair laughed, prodding her in the back making her jerk a little.

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." He laughed harder, enjoying Roselyn squirming both at his statement and at the way he moved his hands across her torso, tickling her through her clothing. "You think I'm handsome."

Roselyn squeaked, grabbing his hands to still them. "You are such an arse!"

"I could be so much worse, believe me." He grinned against her hair, slipping his arms around her waist. Roselyn's hands lay over his and she leaned into him. He gave a short sigh of contentment, nuzzling the crown of her head. "But to answer your question, there _have_ been opportunities and offers, but I suppose I'm a bit old fashioned. I believe... _it_ is something that should be shared with someone you care about. Someone you love. I don't believe it is something to be treated casually or like a throw away gesture. It's... important. I think it's the ultimate expression of how much you care about someone, to share yourself with them so much."

"That's a romantic view," Roselyn remarked, cocking her head to one side to look at him. She lace her fingers through his, inhaling and humming thoughtfully for a moment. Alistair smoothing his thumbs over her clothes in steady circles, smiling at the way he saw her eyelids flutter closed. "I like it."

"Good to know." He kissed her cheek and turned his eyes to the window where outside a wheel of bright green sparks was spinning. "Shall we watch the rest of the fireworks and go to bed then, wife?"

"Mhm-hm." She tilted her head back and Alistair stroked his fingers up her throat and along her jaw. He pressed a kiss to her lips as a firework exploded over head, raining down shimmers of golden light. "As you wish, husband."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on the previous chapters! They're great and I love reading them! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know what you think! :D


	8. Chapter 7: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks since the wedding, and celebrations continue for the newlyweds. A fête is Roselyn's first official outing as Alistair's wife, and things could go better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This is Part One of chapter 7. I have had to divide this chapter for purposes of length. The second part will be up in a couple of weeks.
> 
> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr]. Who are just wonderful. :D
> 
> \- Chapter Rating: T
> 
> Month: Justinian - Two weeks after the wedding.

 

* * *

In the days after the wedding, Alistair and Roselyn were inundated with gifts and well wishes. Roselyn received new material for dresses, jewellery, and books while Alistair was given a new sword and shield. A new suit of armour was commissioned for him in the upcoming melee tourney.

The day of the tourney saw the first glimmer of sunshine and waft of warm weather since the wedding. Though the earth was sodden and water logged from days of rain, spirits were high around the palace. Courtiers in attendance were permitted to bring their children to the celebration to watch and to partake in the traditional frivolities and games. The stands and royal box in the tilt-yard were inspected and reinforced for spectators to watch both the jousting tournaments and the melee as they took place on the day. Tents and marquees were set up for merchants to hock their wares and vendors to provide food. Maric arranged for Orlesian wine to be served as the event also coincided with the arrival of two Orlesian ambassadors.

An archery range was set up with prizes for those who could fire closest to the bull's eye. There were skittle games, quoits, wrestling matches, and cock fights. Shouts rose up from all sides, a light-hearted and enthusiastic energy ebbed out of everyone in attendance. Roselyn walked arm-in-arm with Anora, her simple silver gown contrasting nicely with Anora's shimmering gold yellow dress. In the morning, Maric requested they both wear their hair decorated with flowers and have masks painted on their faces; a fashion now popular in Orlais for the hotter days when a physical mask was too stifling. They agreed, and both had decorative markings on their faces around their eyes and cheekbones.

They were not alone in demonstrating this respect to the visiting Orlesian dignitaries. Most of the women present wore some kind of bloom and had at least a subtle touch of decor on their skin.

Every so often Roselyn caught a glimpse of Oriana with Frances in a sling and Oren running circles around her, wanting to try every game and eat every food. They would be returning to Highever with Fergus the following day in order to make the castle ready for the return of Bryce and Eleanor at the end of the month. Fergus was in the tents beyond the stands being tightened into his suit of armour. He was taking part in the melee tourney with Alistair, Cailan, and around eighteen other knights. The jousting was to begin in the afternoon following the melee and was arranged so the Princes could both take part and watch the main event.

"Why don't you try your hand at the archery range?" Anora brought the two of them to a stop not far from the people surrounding it, waiting for their turn. Roselyn rolled her eyes, watching as one arrow when wide above the target. "Show them how it's done."

"I think I would have an unfair advantage," remarked Roselyn with a grin, "having been learning since I was a girl." She gave Anora a gentle tug, continuing their way through the attractions and people milling around.

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, pausing to peruse different stalls and vendors and to talk to merchants and other guests. For the first time in a long time the palace felt like home for Roselyn. The bright day and the cheerful atmosphere reminded her of the markets and festivals she attended Highever; how lively it all was, the noise and the bartering, the music and flurry of activity. She tried to remain serene and collected, a picture of calmness while still enjoying the festivities - a look Anora managed effortlessly. But it was too hard. She found everything too exciting and wanted to look at everything and taste everything. This was her first tourney in Denerim, her first real celebration as Princess-Consort, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Anora kept their pace to a steady, graceful walk and was there to rein Roselyn in when her excitement got the better of her. She was breathless, flighty, and giggled when she had to speak. She felt like she was seeing all these things for the first time, though she knew how foolish that sounded. One merchant in Denerim was not much different to another merchant in Highever. The games and prizes were the same, she had witnessed it and experienced it all before, but for some reason it felt different today. Her heart raced and her nerves buzzed underneath her skin, which felt alive and tingly against the fabric of her clothes. Each time someone brushed passed her Roselyn had to stop herself from jumping, the moment of contact making her jolt with enthusiasm.

"Calm down," Anora told her with a gentle smile. She adjusted one of the peach coloured roses Eleanor had used to decorate Roselyn's hair. "You're like a nervous rabbit, what's gotten into you?"

"I don't know!" Roselyn replied, fighting to control the quaver voice. "I need to calm down. I'm all... fidgety." She glanced around for a moment. "Should we go to the stands? We should go to the stands. We don't want to miss the melee."

"It will be announced, we won't miss it," chuckled Anora. "Unless it's not the melee you're worried about missing." She lifted a fine brow, looking at Roselyn with a quiet, knowing gaze. Blush blossomed across Roselyn's cheeks, staining her skin and making her grow warm. Anora nudged her, "Being married suits you."

Roselyn cleared her throat after a little awkward laugh tumbled out of her mouth. She clutched Anora's arm with her fingers, tucking her hair behind her ear. Unlike almost every other person in the palace, Anora did not ask every hour of every day how Roselyn was finding being married. She was respectful and kept her distance, but was supportive from that distance. She did not pry, gossip, or partake in the rumours already cultivating around the palace.

One rumour Roselyn heard was that she was already pregnant. Another was that she and Alistair had already slept together before the wedding, and that was why he had ordered the sister and the servants out on the night. A third was that not only was Roselyn pregnant, but it was twins. According to palace hearsay, the stars were being studied every night and soothsayers were being consulted in order to predict when the baby would be born.

When Anora told Roselyn how she was examined during her first year of marriage, Roselyn did not expect anything like the scale she was being subjected to. She noticed people looked more at her waist line than at her face. They whispered to each other behind their hands when she ate something or refused to eat something else. She heard her reluctance to eat quail eggs was a sure sign she was carrying a boy. Another rumour was that her dislike of lampreys would mean the child would be born in the winter.

Everything she did, everything she touched, was under intense scrutiny. It was exhausting, but at the very least she and Alistair enjoyed laughing over the gossip at the expense of the courtiers. Anora was one of the few who did not join in the gossip mongeringand Roselyn was grateful for that. As far as she could recall, this was the first time Anora had mentioned the wedding or her marriage - and she had done so in the form a compliment.

"It's... nice," Roselyn mumbled, averting her gaze away from Anora to the passersby. "I... you know... it's..."

"Nice?" Anora chuckled. She removed her arm from Roselyn's and circled it around her waist. "I've heard all the rumours."

"So have I," groaned Roselyn. "I know you said you were under scrutiny but I had no idea it would be this personal."

"You grow accustomed to it," sighed Anora, leading them safely through the crowd. They both fell silent for a moment, the air between them pulsing with questions Roselyn could sense Anora wanted to ask but wasn't certain how to word. Roselyn chose not to prompt her, continuing to walk in quiet tandem. "Is there any ... truth to the rumours?" Anora inquired with a diplomatic polish Roselyn had not been expecting

Feeling the tips of her ears burn with blush, Roselyn made a subtle shake of her head eyes darting around to make sure they were safe from any potential eavesdroppers. She lowered her voice when she spoke, just to be safe. "None."

Anora looked at her, "You and Alistair haven't...?"

"Not yet," admitted Roselyn shrinking a little underneath Anora's gaze. "Neither of us are ready. We're still getting to know each other and it's still a little odd."

"I understand," Anora assured her, gaze softening. "I think it's sensible to wait until you're both comfortable... and it's never bad to make those foretellers look foolish." A small smirk tugged at the corner of Anora's lips setting Roselyn at ease. "You get on though?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Very much. He's so attentive but... awkward. And he's gentle. Like when he kisses me, it's not demanding. It's very much..." Blushing at the mere thought of Alistair kissing her, Roselyn breathed deep through her nose. Her lips tingled with the memory of his and for a moment she debated heading to the tents to find him. "He's respectful."

"That's Alistair," Anora shrugged. "I think his humble beginnings had an impact on him." She paused and stopped, eyes turning to Roselyn with alarm. "You  _know_  about his roots, don't you?"

"That he is a legitimized bastard half-elf, who used to sleep in the stables at Redcliffe?"

Anora visibly relaxed, laughing through her nose. "Thank the Maker. I really thought I'd put my foot in it."

"No. He told me weeks ago," Roselyn explained. "He wanted everything to be honest and open between us. No hidden truths."

"He really is nothing like Cailan or Maric," remarked Anora. She snorted softly, her mouth quirking to one side and her face creasing with quiet anger. "Those two have enough lies between them to fill the palace twice over."

"Anora!" Roselyn's brows shot up and she squeezed Anora's hand at her waist, "Careful what you say." She glanced around to make sure no one had heard what Anora had said. "Remember that you never know who is listening."

The stern mask of resentment on Anora's face softened at the sincerity of Roselyn's warning and she smiled. "I know. I'm sorry... I'm a little out of s-"

Somewhere further ahead of them a trumpet blared a triumphant call, the signal that the tournament was going to start shortly and that guests should get to the stands to be seated and watch. Roselyn turned to Anora almost bouncing, her joy short lived to see Anora falter and topple back, her eyes rolling back into her head. She only just caught herself by grasping the sleeve of a man walking past them.

"Anora!" Roselyn helped her down to the ground, noticing her face had turned pale making the drawn on gold mask look stark against her skin. A small group of people began to crowd around them, murmuring and mumbling. "Go and get her some water. A physician! Something!" Roselyn snapped. She felt around Anora's face and jaw with the back of her hand, checking that she was breathing.

Moments ticked by, Roselyn watching Anora growing more coherent with each one. Her eyes opened wide and she stared around blind and confused as to why a moment ago she had been upright and now she was on the floor.

"Are you alright?" asked Roselyn, clutching her hand. "You... I don't know, fainted? I think."

A dark haired healer pushed through the congregated crowd pushing them back. He knelt at Anora's other side and started to check her eyes and her breathing.

"I'm fine," Anora protested pushing herself to sit up. "I'm fine! Fine!" she insisted, her voice resonating with control as she ushered the healers hands away from her. "Thank you, everyone, for your assistance, but I am myself."

Roselyn helped her to her feet with the assistance of the man Anora had grabbed in the first place. "I felt a little dizzy, that's all. Must be the heat we're getting. It's uncharacteristic of Ferelden." A little uneasy laugh rippled over those around her in reaction to her attempt at making light of what happened. "I am well, everyone," she told them. "Please go to the stands, no one wants the tourney to be delayed!"

One by one people began to disperse, the healer first among them. Roselyn supported Anora, an arm around her waist and felt her shaking beneath her dress. Once they were alone again, Anora cleared her throat and with a soft, long intake of breath squared her shoulders and smoothed her hand down the front of her bodice.

"We should go too," she told Roselyn.

"Are..." Roselyn bit her bottom lip. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Anora nodded, turning to face Roselyn. "Just the heat. And I suppose I could do with something to drink." The smile she tried to reassure Roselyn with shook. Roselyn frowned but withheld her worry and concern knowing Anora would only brush it off.

They were not the last to arrive at the stands, but when they did approach them Roselyn saw almost everyone who was attending the celebrations seated and talking, ready to watch. Maric stood in the royal box, the two Orlesian ambassadors seated to one side of him. There were two vacant seats for Roselyn and Anora, and another two for Cailan and Alistair when they were finished in the melee.

Maric leaned on the railing of the box, talking to the Princes who stood on the ground both dressed in armour. Cailan's was a tarnished mute gold colour which matched his hair and glinted in the sunlight. Alistair's was silver and showed no signs of wear, as this was the first time Alistair was to use it. Neither of them were armed or helmed and they both turned when their father pointed out Roselyn and Anora's arrival.

"There you are!" Cailan marched over to them, Alistair at his side.

"Someone said you fainted," Alistair explained looking Anora over. "Are you alright?"

"I did not faint" Anora bit out as Cailan stole Anora away from Roselyn, his own arm in place of where Roselyn's had been. "And I am fine, I wish everyone would stop fussing."

Alistair grimaced. "I was only asking..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

Sighing, Anora pushed her fingers across her forehead. "I know. I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice short and clipped. "But I am perfectly fine. If someone could get me a drink, that would be wonderful. Aside from that, nothing to worry about."

Cailan waved a hand, sending a nearby attendant off to get some water. Roselyn watched as he tucked an arm around Anora's waist holding her to him, a gesture of affection she had not witnessed from him before. Judging by the surprise that flickered over Anora's face it was something she was not used to either.

"Are you having a good time?" Alistair's voice broke Roselyn from her thoughts. She jumped a little when he grasped her hands, the thick leather of his gauntlets concealing his warm skin. Despite his heavy, cumbersome armour he was still gentle and careful when he touched her.

"Yes," she nodded, turning her body towards him. "We've gone around a few times. So many people are here!"

"Did you try any of the games?" he inquired, smiling.

"Anora suggested I try the archery but I didn't want to show off."

"You should have."

"It's for children." She cocked an eyebrow, chiding him in a playful manner. "I see you're all ready for the melee."

Alistair nodded, stretching out his arms and stepping back to allow her to view the armour and the lion headed symbol etched into the metal. "What do you think?"

Surveying him with a discerning gaze, Roselyn made a show of walking around him, following the joints and delicate decoration with her fingers until she was back in front of him. "It's beautifully made," she told him, mouth quirking to one side. "Not that I know much about armour. It'll be a shame to see it get scratched up."

"That's the point." Alistair beamed and dropped his arms to his sides. Stepping closer, he slid his hands across Roselyn's waist. She glanced away, her stomach fluttering with his close proximity and all too aware of the eyes that were pretending not to watch them. "Do you have something for me?" he asked, voice low, mouth beside her ear.

"Something...?" She leaned back a little and met his gaze, puzzled.

"A... a favour or uhm..." Alistair's cheeks grew pink. "Something for good luck? It's customary."

Feeling her stomach sink down to her feet rooting her to the spot, Roselyn's skin grew cold and clammy, humiliation making the fluttering in her stomach turn to tight knots. "I didn't know!" she told him, eyes widening. "I didn't-" She pressed her hand to her mouth aghast.

Alistair stroked the base of her back in small circles in an effort to comfort her. His expression was calm, warm not angry but still Roselyn bit back the sting of embarrassed tears. Her first big event as his wife and she'd failed in a spectacular fashion. "It's alright, relax." He pressed his forehead against hers and breathed through his nose, long breaths that Roselyn started match in an effort to try and calm down. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," she hissed back.

"A kiss for luck will do me just as well," he grinned.

"Alistair..." Roselyn groaned at him, "How can you joke? This matters!"

He pressed a kiss to the bridge of her nose anyway, stood up straight and with swift fingers plucked one of the flowers out of Roselyn's hair. "How about this?" He showed it to her. The petals were browning around the edges from the sun but it was a bloom mostly intact.

"Will that do?" she asked him, glancing between it and his face.

He nodded, confident. "I think so. I'll just think of somewhere to put it later."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Roselyn wrapped her hand around Alistair's bringing the flower to her lips. She kissed the petals, her cheeks growing warm. "A kiss for luck..." She dropped her gaze, feeling small and foolish. "Or protection. Something like that..." Her skin prickled with her embarrassment and she dropped her hands behind her back.

Holding the stem of the flower between his fingers, Alistair ducked his head to press a kiss to her mouth. He smiled against Roselyn's lips, distracting enough that she draped her arms around his neck and pushed her fingers through his hair. Giggles bubbled up in her chest and spilled out from between her lips, broken and peppered by further affectionate kisses from him.

"Cailan! Stop it!" Anora's irritated bark caused both Roselyn and Alistair to break apart and look towards her. Cailan had her pressed against him, one hand at her jaw, tilting her head back and the other hand grappling for her backside through the material of her dress. Anora was ridged, her jaw clenched and palms flat against Cailan's breastplate in an effort to push him away. "Cailan!"

"It's a kiss for luck, Anora," he complained, trying to kiss her again.

"I gave you one," she almost snarled at him, dodging as best she could while he held her fast.

"That was a peck," he complained. Roselyn noticed how his hand clenched around Anora's neck, his fingers digging into her hair. She went to move, to protest, but Alistair held her waist in a firm, steady grip preventing her from intervening.

"Cailan," Maric barked his name and Cailan fell into line without a second thought. He released Anora who walked away from him and up the steps into the stands and moved towards the rail where Maric was leaning over. "Save your energies for the melee." He told Cailan, eyes narrowed, a slight hint of warning to his tone. "Go get your helmet on."

"Fine," Cailan tutted. He dug his heel into the grass, turning and stalking away towards the tents.

"You too, Alistair."

"Alright." Alistair gave his father a cursory glance before his attention fell to Roselyn again. "You'll be cheering for me?"

"You and Fergus."

"Well, that makes sense," he nodded.

Pursing her lips, Roselyn shifted her weight from one hip to the other. "It goes without saying, but be careful."

"I've done this a few times," he retorted with a playful smirk. "But because you asked, I'll be extra careful. You'll see, I'll come out and won't have a scratch on me!"

"Don't joke-"

"Alistair!" Maric snapped.

"I'm going!" he called back. He kissed Roselyn briefly on the lips, leaving her a little lost and speechless as he released her and followed Cailan's steps as fast as he was able. Roselyn watched him go until he disappeared into one of the dark gold and burgundy tents. She climbed the steps to the stands where Anora was already sitting and took her place beside her.

"It seems marriage suits you and Alistair," Maric mentioned to her, speaking as if he was talking about the weather.

"Uh..." Roselyn glanced at Anora for guidance. Her gaze was far off, her face still and stony. "Yes, Your Majesty. We like each other very much," she told Maric, hoping her answer would suffice. Anora told her time and again when dealing with Maric to keep answers vague but diplomatic and pleasing. It was the easiest way to avoid him digging further into personal matters.

"Good." Maric crossed his arms over his chest. "I hope we'll see the match bear fruit before long."

Without thinking Roselyn pressed both hands to her belly understanding the full meaning of Maric's words. She swallowed back the rising dread that somehow he could tell just by looking that they had yet to sleep together. Instead she plastered a quaint smile on her mouth and looked at him.

"I hope so too, Your Majesty." She kept her voice still and met Maric's cool gaze with her own until he turned his attention to the Orlesian ambassadors on his right. She released a slow breath, her gut turning over and over making her want to vomit. As she smoothed out her skirts over and over again to quell her nerves, Anora reached over and took one her hands to give it a gentle squeeze of support.

The melee event started with a rousing bellow of trumpets where the competitors marched onto the field, each announced one-by-one to thunderous applause and cheering. Most were armed with either two-handed blades or a sword and shield; only three that Roselyn could see were armed with spears for the long ranged advantage. Roselyn spotted Fergus by the Highever colours on his belt, the pommel of his sword, and the symbol painstakingly blazed onto the chest and right shoulder of his armour and his shield. Alistair and Cailan were the last to be announced, the cheers for the two of them rising louder than any for any other competitor.

They were separated into two groups and lined up either end of the lists ready to charge at each other. The initial charge was the only time the combatants worked together in a team effort. Once the two sides met it became a free for all until the last entrant was standing.

Maric made a speech to the spectators and combatants that Roselyn only half listened to. When the King dropped his arm, giving the signal for the tournament to begin there was a clamouring of shouts and roars as the armoured men and women raced at each other, their weapons drawn.

The first clash of shields and swords made Roselyn grit her teeth and grip the arms of her seat losing sight of Fergus and Alistair within moments of the initial bout. There were a handful of causalities from the charge, three bodies on the ground unable to get up under the weight of their armour. Physicians rushed out onto the field when it was safe to help them up and escort them away. Roselyn only vaguely recognized the colours and different sigils she glimpsed. Someone from the Bannorn was out, one from Amaranthine, and another from Gwaren.

The movement was too fast to keep track of everyone. Each time someone was felled, a great cheer arose from the crowd and their name was lost within the din of noise of voices and clashing blades. Roselyn watched brief partnerships be made to take down the more skilled or aggressive fighters. Those armed with spears from South Reach and West Hills were set upon without mercy, their weapons broken under the deluge of attacks rained down on them. Fergus was knocked out, forced to the ground by Cailan and the wide, heavy swings from his two-handed bastard sword.

Even as the numbers thinned, it was still hard to tell who was who. Armour looked the same under the unrelenting attacks of swords and bashes of shields. No one stood still long enough for her to see their sigil or their colours. The only person who stood out was Cailan in his muted gold armour which caught the sun making it simmer in an almost blinding light.

One of the few female combatants, Bryony of White River almost had Cailan out-matched. She cornered him against the fencing until she was charged into and sent flying to the floor in a crumpled heap. That was when Roselyn finally spotted Alistair, who was quick on the man who knocked out Bryony. He bashed his shield into his face and sent him reeling to the ground.

In what might have been five minutes or an hour, the eighteen men and women had been whittled down to two, Cailan and Alistair facing off against each other with as much strength and determination as if they were both in real combat.

Each swing of Cailan's blade Alistair blocked with his shield. Cailan countered every lunge and thrust from Alistair's blade, twisting out of the way or deflecting with his own sword. Each time it appeared one might faltered under the other or under their own tiredness, the crowd almost jumped their feet.

Roselyn saw all the eyes of those watching trained on the two Princes. Anora leaning forward in her chair, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Maric had an almost hungry look on his face and the ambassadors were both inching further forward in their chairs. Occasional bets were shouted over the yelling and jeering of the crowd. Roselyn's blood was pumping and even she could not deny the sheer animalistic rush she got just from watching the fight as it drew on, the two men matching blow for blow.

A quick dodge left and then right, a well aimed slam of his shield into Cailan's face had Cailan against the fencing and Alistair on the attack. Blade high, shield aimed down in the effort to get his brother to the ground. Roselyn cheered with the rest of the crowd, rising out of her seat, her face flushed and eyes keen on the form of her husband.

She watched his sword arm move, Cailan set to lose. Then, quicker than she could follow, the roles were reversed. Cailan had the upper hand, his bastard sword over his head and Alistair on the ground his own blade out of reach, his shield his only form of protection and his helm riding up his face.

Cailan brought his sword down crashing it into Alistair's shield. Again and again he slashed, Alistair rolling one way then the other to avoid the swings, the sharp edge of Cailan's blade slicing the ground. Alistair's helmet came loose and was left discarded on the floor as he lifted his shield to fend off another hefty swing.

"Why isn't Cailan stopping?" Roselyn demanded, her voice shrill. Her heady excitement replaced with terror. She lurched forward, catching herself on the wooden barrier of the stand. "He's won! Why is he still attacking?!"

"I don't know." Anora was at her side, eyes trained and wide. "Your Majesty?"

"Give them a moment," Maric gave a dismissive wave of his hand. Roselyn could hear the crowd growing restless, the barbaric, unnecessary beating Cailan was performing making them uncomfortable, unsure if they should continue to cheer and goad.

"Make him stop!" Roselyn snapped. "Alistair's lost his helmet!"

Maric look up at her, his chin perched in his the long fingers of his hand. He pursed his lips, lazy eyes on hers. "He still has his shield."

Tensing her jaw, Roselyn pushed off from the wooden beam, strode around Anora to the steps and onto the grass. She pushed past those who stood on the ground to watch until she reached the fencing and ducked underneath it, yanking her arm out of the grip of someone whole grabbed her.

Shouts and cries erupted from the crowd. Yells for Cailan to stop, bellows of Roselyn's name. Guards spilled out onto the field to grab her and pull her back. She pulled away from each hand that wrapped around her wrist or arm. If Maric would not call Cailan off, then she would do it herself. One guard snatched her around the waist lifting her from the ground up onto his shoulder. Roselyn screamed in protest, kicking her legs. She struggled and continued to scream watching the earth move under the feet of the guard who carried her.

 _ **"CAILAN,"**_ Maric bellowed, stepping in at long last. Roselyn caught a glimpse of him marching over the grass towards his sons. The guard plopped her on the ground and she turned in time to see Maric grabbing Cailan's blade in his hand and wrenching it from his oldest son's grip with surprising ease.

Cailan ripped his helmet off and threw it at the ground, narrowly missing Alistair's head. His cheeks were dark red with his exertion, eyes wide, his gaze almost lost and confused as he looked around his surroundings. He breathed hard, puffing his cheeks out on his quick breaths.

"You won," Maric told him, placing both hands on Cailan's shoulders. "Enough."

Cailan glanced at the ground where Alistair was on his back and had yet to move. His shield was splintered, large gouges in the wood where the blade had pierced it and the metal around the rim was buckled and dented in places. Roselyn watched several of the other combatants hurry onto the field with physicians each of them helping Alistair to his feet. He made slow deliberate movements, taking time to sit up. Half his face was bloody, his hair matted and damp with sweat. He had a split lip and Roselyn was sure there were more injuries she could not see.

As Alistair was helped off the field Maric announced Cailan as the winner to half-hearted cheering and applause. Roselyn followed after the physicians and those helping Alistair to hobble to the medical tent erected specifically for the Princes.

Inside, she waited to one side while a groom and the other fighters helped Alistair out of his armour so that he could breathe easier and so his body could be examined for injuries. He sat gingerly on the edge of a cot while several healers bustled around him using various tools to check him over. One physician pressed a cloth to a wound across Alistair cheek, which was where most of the blood was coming from. Each piece of metal that came away showed signs of Cailan's unrelenting and violent swings. The cuirass was dented, concaved so it would have pressed against Alistair's chest making it hard to breathe. His spaulders and vambraces showed scratches and defensive grazes where they had protected him from Cailan's blade more than his shield had. Mud, dirt and grass clung to his faulds and to his greaves making the shining new silver armour dull and mucky.

"What can I do?" Roselyn asked wanting to be helpful but uncertain as to how to go about being so. One of the physicians, a gristled older man with a beard tucked into his cotton shirt looked her over through squinted eyes.

"Here." He beckoned her over with a nod of his head and she obeyed. "Hold this cloth here tight to his face." Her hand replaced his on the rag staunching the blood from the slash on Alistair's cheek. She saw how Alistair clenched one eye shut, the other roving around the milling bodies very gradually. He sat quite still and steady not moving or swaying and followed the directions of the healers and physicians when they instructed him to move or breathe.

Roselyn changed the soiled rag over for a new one coated with a spicy smelling salve which made Alistair wince when she pressed it to his face. Soon, only she, Alistair, and the bearded physician were in the tent.

"No broken bones," the physician - Bart - told them both, scratching at the back of his head with long, clawed fingers. "Good armour that." He jerked his head at the discarded pieces piled neatly in a corner. "You'll ache for days."

"That's fine," Alistair grimaced when he tried to smile. "No point doing it if you don't hurt a bit afterward."

"No strenuous activities," Bart told Roselyn, peering down his nose at her. He cocked a furry eyebrow and Roselyn rolled her eyes catching his meaning. "He'll need to rest up. Expect a lot of bruises. Be grateful it wasn't worse."

"Oh, I am," Alistair chuckled and groaned. "Thank you."

With a snort, the greying physician shoved a pot of the same spicy smelling salve into Roselyn's hand. "For that cut. It'll scar, but apply this a few times a day and it'll heal up alright."

She nodded and slid it into one of the pockets of her dress. "Thank you." Without another word Bart was gone from the tent, disappearing to tend to anyone who was injured during the fighting.

"How does it look?" Alistair inquired trying to keep his tone light. His lips quirked at the corner as Roselyn pulled the cloth away from his face. The wound cut a few inches across his cheek bone about an inch below his eye. It wasn't deep, but it had bled profusely and now dry looked like gory war paint.

Roselyn bit her lip. "It's fine."

"That bad?"

Putting the cloth to one side, she gathered up a basin and filled it with water from a pitcher. She sat beside him with a new rag which she soaked in water and used to clean the dried blood from Alistair's face and from around the wound. "What happened?" She asked him, concentrating on wiping every speck of blood from his face.

"Cailan won," he shrugged and then winced. "Fair and square."

"I meant, why didn't he stop when you were down?" Roselyn tried to keep her voice level and personable but a ripple of anger marred her words. "He kept going, even after your helmet came off."

"Cailan can be a little..." Alistair pursed his lips, "enthusiastic." He met Roselyn's gaze and smiled. "I'm fine, Rose. I've had worse."

"You make excuses for him a lot," Roselyn remarked, tossing the stained cloth into the reddened water. She grabbed the basin of water and got to her feet. "And for your father. He didn't even call Cailan off until I walked into the field to try and get him off you." She shoved the basin onto a nearby stand sending water sploshing over the rim.

"You did what?!" Alistair's eyes widened and he grabbed her hands. "You walked onto the field? Cailan could have killed you! At least I had armour on!"

"It doesn't matter." Roselyn snatched her hands back, trying to not be angry and failing. "Why do you make excuses for them?"

"They're my family," Alistair explained simply and shrugged. "They aren't perfect by a long shot, but he's the only father I've known and he's the only brother I've known. I owe them both a lot."

"They treat you like a fool." Roselyn crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. "Why do you think you owe them anything? All they are is unkind."

"We're blood. I have to love them."

"Says who?!" she snapped, her voice rising a few notches. Alistair sat back, surprised at her sharpness and Roselyn realised what she had said. She smoothed her fingers across her forehead and down over her eyes.

"You're smearing your-"

"I don't care!" she bit out. Her chest grew tight and she could feel her fingers shaking. Her chin trembled and she fought not to let her voice quiver when she spoke. "I really thought Maric was going to let Cailan kill you."

A soft smile pulled at the corners of Alistair's mouth. He sighed, uncrossing Roselyn's arms with a gentle coaxing touch and guided her to sit in his lap. "Whatever you think of him... he wouldn't allow that to happen. He still needs me in case something happens to Cailan." He perched his chin on Roselyn's bare shoulder, pressing his forehead against her temple.

"But he was just watching.  _Smiling._  Like he was enjoying it," protested Roselyn. "He didn't  _do_  anything."

"Rose," Alistair sighed again. His lips skimmed her shoulder and she pretended not to feel the tingling where his mouth pressed. "I've lived through far worse." She looked at him, his gaze on hers was hard, unreadable - more serious than she had seen it before. "Believe me."

She did believe him. She believed that after being rescued from sleeping in stables he was brought to the palace to be little more than a fool and a whipping boy; someone for Cailan to belittle and make fun of. A spare in every sense of the word. He lived through a difficult childhood and an uneasy upbringing, and yet somehow managed to come out of it kind. A good person. A better son and better brother than either Maric or Cailan deserved. That was why she acted as rashly as she did. She cared for Alistair, more than she wanted to admit to herself or to him. To see him rolling away from Cailan's swings, centimetres from the razor edge of a blade, made her only too aware of how much she had grown to care about him in such a short space of time.

It was terrifying and thrilling, making her whole body tight and constrict when they were together. He touched her skin and every nerve ending came alive. Never in her life had she experienced anything like it. Alistair made her feel safe and lost all at the same time. She teetered between wanting to fall into him and wanting to keep her distance. It was early days, things could change.  _He_  could change. She did not know how he felt about her. She had no desire to fall so hard and so fast and find her feelings repulsed or mocked.

"You ran out into the field," Alistair stated. It wasn't just his words that broke her thoughts but the lingering caress of his lips following the curve of her neck. "That was a reckless thing to do."

"I know," Roselyn mumbled. Her eyelids fluttered closed to the sensation of kisses being placed along her skin. The scruff of his beard tickled making her bite her lip and fight not to giggle.

"What was your plan?" he asked, as if addressing the colour of her dress. One of his hands held her around the waist bringing her close to his chest. The other followed up her dress until his fingers were teasing the back of her neck making her pulse increase.

"I have no idea," admitted Roselyn. She yielded more of her neck to him with a small sigh. Her hands clenched, one grasping the material of her dress. The other further afield supporting herself on his thigh, her fingers pressing against his leg. "I just wanted to... hmm..." She trailed on a soft, contented noise she refused to admit was a whimper.

Alistair nibbled his teeth along up the column of her throat, her skin growing warmer and warmer under this mouth and his welcomed affection. Her stomach coiled tight around itself somehow making it hard for Roselyn to breathe. She bit her lips, her cheeks blossoming with heat and pleasurable ache of desire awakening between her legs. Dropping her head back, an involuntary moan spilled from between her lips. Alistair nipped the lobe of her ear before taking it between his teeth and tugging with a soft, playful growl.

With skill and ease that surprised her, Alistair maneuvered her to turn in his lap until she was over his lap, her knees balancing precariously on the edge of the cot he sat on. His hands dropped lower to support her and keep her steady. She felt him grapple for the material of her dress, rising it up with clumsy hands until it was billowing over them both and was no longer an obstacle between the two of them.

Kissing him hard, Roselyn cupped his face in one hand and raked the fingers of the other back through his hair. Alistair leaned back, head arched, fingers kneading the bare flesh of her thighs. He nipped Roselyn's bottom lip, making her tremble. Her whole body felt like it was shaking, her breaths growing short, sharp, and hard to take. She could feel Alistair's hands, steadying her and a guiding weight which brought her lower into his lap. The ache between her legs was becoming a more urgent throb, a building heat which seemed to flow through her veins warming her all over.

Following his lead, Roselyn drove her hips against him, ignoring how clumsy and gawky she felt in doing so. Alistair moaned and she swallowed the sound, bracing her hands on his shoulders, clutching to the material of the shirt he wore. Feeling one of his hands rise and splay across the small of her back, Roselyn pulled away. Her lips lingered a hairs breadth from his, the both of them breathing hard. Alistair's eyes on hers were darker, his gaze heated and full of unfamiliar need. Her lips trembling, Roselyn blinked a few times in succession as if somehow doing so would subdue the primal instincts that urged her to continue.

"Rose..." Alistair murmured her name, his eyes dropping for a moment to her mouth.

She cocked her head to one side surprised at herself. "Alistair?"

"Alistair!" Maric called for him from outside the tent to announce himself and entered seconds later. Those few seconds gave Roselyn enough time to change her position, still sitting in Alistair's lap but not over him like she had been.

Maric paused a few steps inside the tent looking between the two of them. They were both flushed and chasing their breath, both of them with lips which were reddened by their kissing. Arching a brow, Maric crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, smirking.

"I came to see how you were, boy. But it seems you are well in hand."

Alistair managed a choked laugh. "Uh... yes. Your Majesty."

"Bart told me there were no broken bones? You're unhurt, over all."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good," Maric cleared his throat, glanced between the two of them and coughed. "Well, when you're dressed, come and join us in the stands for the jousting, eh?"

"We will."

"No rush." Maric winked at his son, his smirk growing. "Take as much time as you need." He left and after a moment, Roselyn noticed how Alistair's body began to shake with laughter, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. Seeing the funny side, her own laughter joined his.


	9. Chapter 7: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair confronts Cailan about his behaviour, both in the tourney and in recent weeks. Cailan delivers some harsh facts, and they part with nothing resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part two of chapter seven! Thank you for sticking with me! I hope you guys enjoy this conclusion to the chapter! :]
> 
> \- Massive credit to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [tumblr]. Who are just wonderful. :D
> 
> \- Chapter Rating: T / mature [nsfw content]

* * *

 

Alistair shoved the door back so hard it hit the wall and slammed into the frame behind him after he was inside Cailan's room. His brother - caught by surprise - jerked up from the chair he was sitting in, poring over an official looking letter.

"Alis-"

"Shut up," Alistair snapped, bristling. He did not want to give Cailan the chance to speak so he could worm his way out of an explanation for what happened in the melee tourney. He managed to work himself up enough to charge into his room unannounced and knew that if Cailan spoke first, he would lose his concentration and his nerve. "What happened out there?" He pointed at the window.

Cailan stared at him, struck into silence for a few moments before his mouth slid into an unpleasant smirk. "Don't tell me you're sore about losing," laughed Cailan, folding his arms across his chest. "Then again, it must be embarrassing to lose in the contest for your own wedding celebration."

"That isn't what this is about, Cailan," Alistair jabbed a finger into his brother's chest. "I don't care that I lost. What I care about is you." Dropping his shoulders, Alistair took a long intake of breath to settle the anger in his chest. "You have been acting erratic for weeks." He explained hoping his concern would help in getting through. "At the Pearl, during the wedding, with Anora today, during the fight. I'm not the only one who's noticed."

"You're imagining things," Cailan tutted, striding away from Alistair through his presence chamber and into a smaller room for dining. On the table was a silver pitcher of wine and two goblets, Cailan filled one almost to the brim and drank the wine down in a few loud gulps. He poured another, mopping his mouth on his sleeve. "I have never been better."

Alistair followed and stood in the threshold between the two rooms. He watched Cailan drink and pour, listened to his words and fought the rising irritation which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You are not acting like you."

Cailan glared from over the brim of his goblet. "How am I acting?" he demanded lowering the cup. "Tell me, if you're so clever."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're brash, you're rude. You're lashing out at people for no reason or for imagined slights. You tried to attack the King for Maker's sake, Cailan! You are not yourself."

Snorting, Cailan swept a hand through his hair. "What do you know about me?" he growled, peering into the wine in his cup. "You don't know me at all."

"I know _this_ ," Alistair gestured, "isn't you." Another derisive snort and Cailan placed the goblet safely on the table pushing it away from the edge and turning it a little so it sat perfectly opposite its silver mate. "You need help," Alistair added, his tone earnest. He took a step forward and placed a tentative hand on his brother's shoulder. "Talk to me," he coaxed, smiling.

Cailan met his gaze, his darker eyes not quite focusing through the alcohol. His smirk faltered, weakening to a small, lost smile. For a few tense, silent moments Alistair thought he might have got through to his brother. That his sincere plea and desire to help him through whatever demons he was experiencing had reached him.

Instead, Cailan slapped his hand away as if it offended him and stood to his full height, his lips curling back into a sneer. "I think it's funny that you believe you know anything about me," he said to Alistair, his words biting. "Who we were as boys and who we are now are very different people." He leaned against the table, eyes peering up from underneath his eyebrows. "You're a fool, Alistair."

"Cailan--"

"No," Cailan cut him off. "Now it's my turn to speak."

Alistair managed not to roll his eyes.

Cailan stepped towards him, making himself as tall and broad as possible, puffing his chest out, squaring his shoulders. Alistair stood an inch or two taller than Cailan but at that moment, it was as if that height difference was reversed and exaggerated. Alistair felt small under his brother's scrutinising gaze. His blood turned cold and his feet chilled in his boots making it feel as if tried to run he would be unable to do so.

"You forget that the only reason you are able to live in the palace and the only reason you have the title of Prince is because our father fucked some nobody elven serving wench too stupid to keep her legs and cunt closed." Cailan told him, his voice low and waspish. Alistair clenched his hands into fists at his sides. His body shook within his clothes, a hazy rage filling his mind. "You're a Prince because he needs you. Not because he wanted you."

"I am aware of that," Alistair replied through clenched teeth, deciding to fight back rather than back down and allow Cailan another victory. He had had enough of those today. "Don't hold back Cailan." Alistair offered a challenging, mocking grin. "Let it all out."

Taken aback by Alistair's response, it took Cailan a moment to find his footing in this verbal back-and-forth. Alistair watched him fumble for something to say, stammering and stumbling over possibilities until he settled on one.

"Speaking of your knife-ear mother, she's probably the reason mine is dead. Passing on Maker knows what to the King."

"You would know all about passing on diseases," retorted Alistair, crossing his arms. "You are the one who made sure Anora would be barren. After all, you're not shy about where you rest for the night, are you?"

"You--" Cailan's nostrils flared. "You don't deserve _any_ of the attention you're getting. Not from the King, not from anyone. You don't even deserve the Highever bitch--"

Without thinking, Alistair slammed his fist into the side of Cailan's jaw making him reel back. "That is my _wife,_ " he snarled, his hackles raising. He watched Cailan massage his chin and check for blood. "Her name is Roselyn and if you bad mouth her again I will respond with more than that."

"You punched me." Cailan rubbed his jaw, eyes wide. "You _actually_ punched me."

Alistair flexed his hand. "I'll do it again if you talk about her like that."

"Did I touch a nerve?" asked Cailan, his mouth drawing into an unpleasant smirk. "Was she already deflowered by the time you got to her?" He sneered. "Highever is full of whores, shouldn't be surprised that she's probably fucked half of Ferelden by now."

Alistair threw another punch. Cailan was ready for him, dodged to one side and grabbed his arm as it flew passed his face. Quick to react, Alistair swung his leg out from beneath him, kicking the back of Cailan's knee making him stumble in an effort to steady himself. Free of Cailan's grip, Alistair whirled around his fist connected with Cailan's face and his nose made a loud _crack_ sound. Cailan yelled in pain and clutched his hands to his nface. Blood dripped from between his fingers. Alistair nursed his hand, he grabbed a napkin off the table and shoved it into his brother's face.

"You don't deserve her. Or anything," Cailan narrowed his eyes and held the napkin to staunch the bleeding. "You're a waste of space, Alistair! You've forgotten your place." Alistair waited, the air growing stagnant between them until the bleeding stopped and Cailan was more composed. He watched his brother throw the soiled napkin on the table and his mouth curve into a slow smile. Even with blood smeared over his upper lip and an impressive bruise already forming, Cailan could look imposing. "You should know she came to me." He continued, his voice lilting and almost sing-song in how he spoke. "On your wedding day no less. She asked - nay, _begged_ \- to come to my room that night."

"Oh really?" Alistair queried wearily. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. "That's a new low, even for you. Rose-- Roselyn wouldn't do that."

"No?" Cailan brushed the end of his nose with his thumb, mimicking Alistair's stance. It gave Alistair a small sense of triumph to notice Cailan winced when he touched his nose. "You know her that well, do you? You trust her so much?"

"Yes."

"How naive," sneered Cailan. "Let me offer you some advice: women lie. They are some of the best liars in Thedas. Your pretty little bitch is probably one of the best, given where she comes from."

Squinting, Alistair tried to ignore the itch of interest that nagged at the back of his head. "Roselyn wouldn't lie to me." He tried to sound fierce in his words. He ran his tongue along his top and bottom teeth, the cold, cool quiet filling the air between he and his brother broken when Cailan gave a soft gasp.

"Ask her if anything happened between us on your wedding day."

"You are flogging a dead horse, Cailan."

"Just ask her," snapped Cailan. "If she's so _honest_ and you're sure you know her so well, she'll tell you that we had a conversation. It was very..." Cailan licked his lips, "interesting."

"You're vile," Alistair shuddered. "I don't know why I bothered to try and reach out to you. I thought you would want to talk about whatever is making you so angry, but instead you..." Throwing his hands up he turned, shaking his head and crossed the presence chamber towards the door.

"That's it, walk away," mocked Cailan. "Be weak and pathetic, just like you should be. Like you will always be."

"Why are you so angry with me?" Alistair shouted, rounding on him. "Just tell me _why_."

"Because you _ruined_ everything," Cailan told him with steely coldness, lacking remorse and without a moment's hesitation. "My mother died because of you. You came to the palace, I had to share everything with you, even my father. And now you're celebrated. The bastard half-elf son that no one wanted is being fawned over and celebrated. You get the pretty wife, the big wedding and the month long celebrations. What do I get?" He spat on the floor. "A bitch I never wanted, who never wanted me. And to be shoved to the side like I don't matter."

Alistair gaped at him, amazed at what he was hearing. That underneath it all, all his bluster and flourish, Cailan was jealous. The reason for all his jibes and his poor attitude the last few months was petty jealousy. "You're the crown Prince, Cailan," Alistair told him, searching for logic in his brother's reasoning. "You are the King's favourite. By the end of the month, I won't be the centre of attention anymore and it won't matter."

"But it will," Cailan hissed, saliva clinging to his lips. "She'll get pregnant, you'll have a half-elf brat and suddenly you're the son our father favours. You're the Prince everyone adores and wants to see on the throne when he finally dies. All because your wife can carry a baby."

"Cailan..." Alistair rubbed his hands down his face with a groan, "you're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. "We shall see won't we?"

Alistair closed his eyes as he turned to the door. He knew the end of a conversation when he heard one. Cailan would no longer speak to him and would drink in peace until whatever company he was expecting arrived.

After leaving Cailan's rooms Alistair debated returning to his own. He thought of Roselyn, probably up reading - something he learned she liked to do before bed - or already asleep. He knew how late it was and could feel the tempting pull of tiredness winding around his aching limbs. His body hurt from the melee that day. The aches and pains Bart told him had sustained were now beginning to make themselves known.

The hallway was cooler than Cailan's room. Windows were left open to provide ventilation as the temperatures began to climb over the summer months. Not wanting to go to bed feeling as wound up and upset as he did, Alistair decided to walk for a while and then return to his chamber when he was calm.

Turning down the hallway away from Cailan's room, Alistair walked with his head down and his hands tucked behind his back. The few servants still awake ignored him and he ignored them, too lost in his own thoughts and concerns. He walked past Anora's rooms and the rooms where the Orlesian ambassadors were staying. He went down one hallway, then another, down a flight of stairs through the kitchens, and up another flight of stairs which curved in a small spiral.

As he travelled the different locations of the palace, Alistair found his mind not so focused on Cailan but more on what he said. He had no desire to take Cailan's place and be Maric's favoured son. He hated to admit it, but he knew what Cailan had said could be true. If he and Roselyn did have a child in a short space of time Alistair could overtake Cailan in their father's eyes. He knew Maric desired an heir to carry on not only the Theirin bloodline but also the bloodline of the great King Calenhad above all things. He would go to any lengths to obtain that precious heir.

The thought of taking Cailan's place made Alistair nervous and a sick sensation begin to rise in his throat like bile. He did not want that, no matter what Cailan's paranoid delusions told him. He did not want to lead or be the next in line to the throne. He did not want to be his father's favourite, to be responsible for making the hard decisions. He wanted a quiet life. Despite living most of his life in a palace, he wanted and valued the simple things. Food, a roof over his head, the ability to be of help to others, and to have that same kindness shown to him. Maric called him foolish and weak for having such ideals. Alistair thought they were good to have; simple things that helped him relate to the everyday worker or farmer. He understood their desires and the things they valued because they were the same as his. He wondered if it stemmed from his early life? If those beliefs had somehow been instilled in him and had impacted him. He wondered if that was a wish of his mother's - that though he was a Prince, he never be treated like one? Alistair smirked to himself. If that was her wish, then Maric and Cailan excelled at it.

It was not unusual for Alistair's thoughts to drift and linger on the possibility of who his mother was and what she was like. He knew so little of her; not a name or even a face. Only that she was elven, that she had worked in Redcliffe, and had reportedly died shortly after his birth. On lonely nights with only the horses for company, he conjured in his head who she might have been. He imagined her fair and lithe as all elves were. Young, pretty - she would have had to have been to catch Maric's attention - and gentle. He imagined her clever, but easily led on by flattery and attractive words. He wanted to believe she had given herself willingly to his father and that maybe, if she gave herself easily, it was because Maric promised her the whole of Thedas.

Having nothing of her, not even a memory or a voice to think of, hurt more than he could put into words. The only thing he had was an amulet Eamon had given to him when Maric sent guards to collect him from Redcliffe a few short weeks after Rowan's death. It was trinket, a small thing silver inlayed with turquoise stone on a silver chain - probably a piece of costume jewellery bought for a few coppers. For years he wore it under his clothes until Cailan stole it from around his neck one day while they were sparring. He remembered Cailan teasing him, saying it was a girl's necklace and that Alistair should not have worn it. Cailan had thrown it against the fence, damaging a few of the stones.

That was the only time Alistair ever attacked his brother with the sheer intent to harm him. He was punished severely for his behaviour but Cailan was always more careful around him after that, and Alistair took to keeping the amulet safe in a drawer in his room.

Now he thought on it, he could not recall seeing it since before his wedding.

Stopping in his tracks, Alistair took stock of where his feet had taken him, turned and began to run through the halls and corridors, up steps in a cold panic. He needed to make sure the necklace was still where it should have been. Tucked safe away, his only link to his mother, more precious than it should have been.

The candles were still burning when he reached his room and he saw Roselyn curled up on one side of the bed, hair a tangled and messy around her shoulders and face as slept on peacefully. He closed to door with a soft click, wincing at the noise. He had no desire to wake her, knowing the day had been as tiring for her as it had been for him. Only Roo lifted her head from her paws where she slept at the foot of the bed and cocked her head at Alistair.

"It's alright, Roo," he rubbed the hound’s head. Roo licked his hand in return, watching him walk towards a dresser against the back wall. "Go back to sleep."

Pulling drawers open one at a time, Alistair began to rifle through his clothes. He unfolded undershirts and trousers, unpaired socks wondering if he might have put the amulet in a pair for safe keeping. His clothes had been moved around when Roselyn had moved into the chambers, half of the things he unfolded were hers and he found himself blushing scarlet when he came across more her more delicate garments.

Growing more frantic with each failed search, soon the floor was a mess of rumpled clothing and the drawers Alistair removed from the dressers and armoires. He tried to keep his panic at bay, to remember to breathe and to focus on his search and not on the tight squeezing sensation around his chest or the steady clenching of his stomach. On his knees, the bottom drawer of the last dresser failed to relinquish his mother's amulet and Alistair pushed his face into his hands.

His eyes were damp against his palms and he struggled to keep his breaths calm and long. Instead they grew sharper and made his body jerk. He squeezed his eyes closed and curled his fingers into fists. Biting his lip, he stifled a quiet sniffle with his sleeve. The only connection he had to his mother was gone. Taken or disposed of without him knowing. He knew how foolish it was to get upset over such a trinket when the woman it was connected to was someone he never knew, but he felt a pit of despair sinking in his stomach making him uncomfortable and his limbs feel weak.

The sound of Roo chuffing behind him made Alistair glance behind him. Roselyn was up on her feet pulling her hair over her shoulder as she walked towards him, her face pulled into a concerned frown. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, hoping it wasn't obvious that he'd been crying.

"Redecorating?" Roselyn asked him, kneeling on the floor. She placed her hands in her lap, tilting her head to one side in a quiet, curious way. Alistair followed the curve of her shoulder with his eyes, the length of her neck and then looked away, not wanting to look at her and allow her to see him so pathetic.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he tried not to sound solemn when he spoke. Feeling her hand on his arm he got to his feet, steeling himself. "Go back to bed. I'll tidy up."

"There's something wrong." He heard Roselyn get to her feet too, the material of her night dress rustling. Slim fingers wrapped around his and he squeezed them without thinking. "Why were you ransacking the dressers?"

"I was... looking for something." He blushed, dropping his head and her hand. "It's silly. Don't worry about it." He crossed the room to the bed and started to pull his boots off. He tried his hardest to hide his face, the sting of shame and humiliation making his face warm and the tears he had tried not to let spill grow tight on his cheeks.

Roselyn sighed, looking around the mess he created. "Must be important if you pulled all our clothes out." Alistair saw her feet move as she approached him from across the room. She dropped to her knees in front of him, supporting her arms on his lap peering up at him. "Alistair, talk to me. What were you looking for? Maybe I can help."

"I doubt it," he snorted, not meaning to sound as curt and angry as he did.

"It doesn't hurt to try," Roselyn challenged. Her voice was harder as she stood her ground, not about to be dismissed and ignored by him. Her eyes were bloodshot, betraying her tiredness but Alistair knew her enough to know she would not let this drop until he spoke. Her staunch expression made his chest pulse with a sting of guilt.

Shaking his head he ruffled a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he leaned back and stared at the canopy of their bed for a moment. "It's been a long night." Roselyn stayed silent. She found a stray thread on the hem of his shirt and wrapped her fingers around it as a distraction. With a long inhale, Alistair turned his gaze back down to her and pushed his fingers through her hair, his mouth quirking at the corner. He cupped her face, Roselyn turned her head, her lips brushing the palm of his hand, an intimate gesture which made his pulse quicken. He noticed then one of the straps of her night dress had fallen from her shoulder and sat mid-bicep. He moved it back into place with his fingers. "I can't find a necklace."

"Alright," Roselyn nodded. "What kind of necklace?"

"It's an amulet. About this big." He made a circle with his fingers a little bigger than a sovereign coin. "It's silver, with blue stones inlayed around it. There are a few missing. And it should be on a silver chain."

Roselyn's eyes widened. She got to her feet and pulled a wooden jewellery box towards her on the vanity which was near to the bed. A few seconds passed where she pulled out different necklaces, chains and bracelets. Roselyn returned to him cradling a necklace in her hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. Alistair held his hands out when she passed it to him and relief flooded through his veins making him almost shudder with delight. "Is that it?"

"Yes!" He answered with a breathless little laugh and cupped his hands around it. "Yes! It is. Where... why do you have it?" He blinked and choked back the threat of relieved tears.

"One of the servants found it when they were putting my things away after the wedding," explained Roselyn sitting beside him on the covers. "I hadn't seen it before but considering it was found among your things I assumed it to be yours. I put it in my jewellery box for safe keeping." She tucked her hair behind her ear, "I should have said something sooner. I'm sorry."

"No, no!" Alistair shook his head. He pulled the necklace on over his head before pressing a kiss to Roselyn's cheek. "You have no idea how panicked I was getting that I couldn't find it. I thought someone might have thrown it away or... or something." Fingers smoothed across Roselyn's jaw, he wrapped them into her hair, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. Roselyn smiled against his lips, one of her hands rising to tentatively brush through his hair. Alistair breathed hard when he pulled away. Eyes closed he pressed his temple against hers. "Thank you for keeping to safe."

"It was hidden away," Roselyn explained, her gaze meeting his when he opened his eyes after a few seconds. "It seemed important." She traced her thumb over the injury on his cheek bone and curled her fingers around his ear. "Is it? Important?"

"It belonged to my mother," Alistair told her without thinking. He wrapped his free hand around the amulet where it dangled inside his shirt and felt its weight. "It's the only connection I have to her." Releasing Roselyn, Alistair sat up straight and stared ahead at the drapes covering the window. "You probably think it's stupid... to keep something from a woman I never knew."

"Why would I think that's stupid?"

"Because I never met her," shrugged Alistair. "I know nothing about her. Not her name or her voice or where she came from. Only that she was an elf and she worked in Redcliffe castle but somehow... having the amulet gives me a connection to her." For a moment the air was tense and he could almost feel it rippling between them. "I don't know." He shook his head and the tension shattered. "It's a piece of junk anyway, broken... It doesn't matter."

"Don't say that," protested Roselyn, perching her chin on his shoulder. "You care about it, you wouldn't have thrown all our clothes everywhere if you didn't." She chuckled and Alistair managed a soft laugh too. She curled his hair behind his ear. "So, of course it matters."

"When you put it like that..." Alistair offered a small smile. After Roselyn pressed a kiss to his temple he got to his feet, the draw of sleep seeping through the panic which previously had hold of him. He gathered a few shirts and socks from the floor and shoved them into drawers to clear space. Roselyn crawled back under the covers and turned onto her side. Aware of her gaze on him, half-hooded and almost alluring in how she watched him, Alistair's skin grew warm and tingled under her stare. He ducked behind a wooden screen for privacy so he could change, trying to settle the sudden waves of nerves with a long breath.

Since the wedding they changed away from the gaze of the other. The nights previous she turned away or covered her eyes while he undressed, even with the screen to keep him hidden from sight. After today though, he wasn't sure if the screen was necessary. Day by day their affections towards each other grew bolder. Their kisses became hotter, more demanding with a lingering intensity behind them and a promise of more to come. They were both young, they both had urges, and she was beautiful to look at. The shifts she wore at night left so little to the imagination she might as well have slept naked.

The thought of Roselyn naked sent a flood of heat racing through Alistair's body, his skin flushing red all over. Warmth began to pool in his belly, seeping lower making him grit his teeth as his fingers eased through the laces of his trousers to undo them. He thought of her lying there, so close, so warm and soft. Each touch left him wanting more and made an enjoyable desire awaken inside him, always urging for touches to linger longer... for kisses to become that much more. A prelude to something they were both ready to continue.

Alistair knew that was the issue though. No matter their desires, it was about what they both wanted and what they were ready for. He knew himself enough to know that no matter how he might want and yearn for Roselyn physically, taking that step was something he wasn't ready for quite yet. And neither was she. Their marriage was two weeks young, their friendship short and they still had so much to learn about each other. So much could go wrong if they embarked on something they weren't ready for.

That didn't stop his mind wandering, though. Sometimes when he woke in the morning lying on the pillows of his makeshift bed on the floor he considered climbing into bed with her, just to share the warmth and to grow acquainted with the concept. He wondered how she would react if he did that one morning - climbed into bed with her and draped a hand over her waist? If he followed the curve of her hip and gathered her night dress around her waist. If he caressed her belly, and down over her abdomen to stroke between her thighs, or if he lifted his hand up and began to familiarise himself with her breasts and how they felt in his palm.

"Did you ever ask your Uncle about your mother?" Roselyn speaking caught Alistair from his thoughts. His hands were wound up in the laces of his breeches, his erection pressing against the cloth of his small clothes uncomfortably.

Biting back a groan, Alistair pushed his breeches and small clothes down to his mid-thigh. He wrapped his hand around his length, softening a whine at how sensitive he was to his own touch. Leaning forward, supporting his weight with his free hand on wooden night stand be began to stroke himself, imagining Roselyn's hand in place of his own he sucked in a short breath through his nose. His imagination worked him enough to make him hard and push him close to an orgasm. He puffed his cheeks out, rotating his hand along his shaft.

"Alistair?"

"I didn't want to ask and make the King angry," He explained to her with urgency, hoping what he was doing was not obvious. If she climbed out of bed and walked to the screen she would see him. That thought made his stomach coil, making the act itself more exciting.

"Oh..."

Beginning to rock his hips, thrusting into the warn palm of his hand, Alistair clenched his teeth and grasped the wooden stand, scratching his blunted nails along the varnished surface. Squeezing his eyes closed he thought back to how she had been kneeling over him in the tent after the melee. The way she drove against him, rubbing him through his clothes and hers. The boldness of it, the way his body had pleaded for her to continue in ways he was not able to articulate yet.

Adjusting his pace, he swapped short, hurried strokes for longer ones. Smearing precum across the head of his cock and along the shaft, Alistair dropped his head back, the sensation changing. He knew only from Cailan's stories what women could do. He hated to think of it, to imagine his young wife in such a position but the image of her on her knees, her lips around him, her tongue working him floated before his eyes as he dangled his head back.

"Are you alright?"

"F-fine..." Alistair grit his teeth. "Ju-just a minute..."

Sweat dampened his skin and the roots of his hair, Alistair's gut tightened and knotted, a pressure building making him chase his approaching release all the faster. Clenching his fingers around his length, he pictured Roselyn beneath him, her legs around his waist drawing him into her, hot and tight and new. Her voice a choir of breathless moans, his name spilling from between her lips with each thrust into her. He smelled her hair, her skin, tasted her sweat in his mouth.

"Alistair?" she called for him, but he was too far gone to respond. Biting down on his bottom lip he muffled his grunts, his breaths coming short, almost gasps. "Alistair?" Dropping his head forward, his chin touching his chest, Alistair's grip on the nightstand tightened, his knuckles turning white. He held his breath, praying to any deity who would listen that Roselyn would not see him. "Alistair!"

The building tension in his belly erupted in a burning heat. Unable to stop the moan of satisfaction, Alistair tried to disguise it at the very least as a yawn. His seed spurted and dribbled over his hand and down his shaft, coating his fingers as he rode the ebbing waves of his climax. He stroked his cock until he grew flaccid. Quickly stripping out of his soiled small clothes and breeches, he changed into clean ones. His skin felt extra sensitive and almost rippled under the cloth of his shirt when he pulled it on over his head.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes!" Alistair answered and quickly reached into a nearby basin. He washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face and sloshed it over the back of his neck. The freezing droplets trickling over his skin a welcome distraction, cooling the heat of his flesh. His cheeks burned but there was little he could do about that. He ran his hand through his hair a few times in the hopes it made him a little more presentable.

When he reappeared from behind the screen, Roselyn leaned up on an elbow, her hair all falling to one side over her shoulder. The strap of her night dress had fallen down her arm again making Alistair's fingers almost itch to move it back into place, if only to have her skin under his hands.

"Did you hear me?" Roselyn asked him.

"Uhm..."

"I thought you said you were listening!" She teased. He offered her a sheepish grin, pleased that it appeared she was none-the-wiser to his surreptitious pleasure. She ran her fingers back through her hair, the way her body moved gave Alistair a tantalizing view of the swell of her breasts and he dug his nails into the palm of his hands, averting his gaze. "I said, why don't you ask your Uncle about your mother. I'm sure there are employment records. I wouldn't have thought it too hard to find out who she was. A name at least."

Taken aback by the sincerity in her voice, Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. Shame replaced the pleasant lull he had felt before, shame of thinking of her in such a base and indecent way when she was in the room, putting consideration into something for him. He settled his expression, hoping his guilt was not too obvious when he looked at her.

"You might be on to something," he shrugged, "but I wouldn't put it to the King. He closed the book on who my mother was a long time ago."

"We wouldn't have to go to Maric," Roselyn sat up, both straps of her dress fell down her arms. "We could go to Redcliffe ourselves, make an excuse!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm, "Rose..."

"You want to know who your mother was, don't you?"

"Yes," He sat on the bed, "but it's not as simple as that."

"Why not?" Roselyn crossed her arms making her breasts bunch and swell above where she held her arms to her chest. Alistair kept his gaze on her face and cleared his throat.

"It just... isn't." He gave a helpless shrug, glancing around the room desperate for something to change the subject. He liked how she wanted to help him with his past and get involved in discovering where he came from, who his mother had been. But that was a conversation for another day - not before bed while he wrestled with the betrayal of his body and hands. "I spoke to Cailan before I came here." He blurted out, shocked at his own choice of conversation topic.

"Oh?" Roselyn tilted her head. "Did he apologise for what happened?"

"No," Alistair laughed and brushed his thumb over his mouth. "No, Cailan never apologises for anything."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Roselyn flopped back into the pillows.

"I punched him."

Her eyes grew wide. "You didn't!"

"I did." Grinned Alistair. "I think I might have broken his nose."

"He deserves it," Roselyn snorted. "After how he behaved in the melee and with Anora beforehand."

"Mhm." Alistair watched her chest rise and fall as she twisted tangled ringlets around her fingers. He thought back to what Cailan said about Roselyn going to him. He knew it wasn't true. There was no chance she would go to Cailan. From everything Alistair saw of her, she held Cailan with little regard. Still, concern gnawed at his stomach. If something had passed between them, why hadn't she said anything? "You're staring."

"About... Cailan?"

"What about him?"

"Did..." Steepling his fingers, Alistair hesitated for a moment. "Did something happen between you two? At... at the wedding?"

Roselyn settled her eyes on him, her brows furrowing and her lips curving into half a pout and half a purse. She tutted, sucking her teeth for a moment. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought it would upset you. It happened at the wedding, and he's your brother. It..." She pursed her lips. "I didn't want to ruin anything."

Alistair nudged up the bed, leaning his weight in one hand on the other side of Roselyn's hip. "What happened?"

"Roo ran off during the banquet, I went to fetch her," Roselyn explained, moving her gaze to focus on the canopy above them rather than on Alistair's face. "She followed the smell of the food to the door that leads down to the kitchens. Cailan followed me when I went to get her. He... _touched_ me." She physically shuddered and crossed her arms over her body as if in an attempt to protect herself. Anger flared in the pit of Alistair's gut. "He told me to go to him when I found you... _unsatisfying_."

"Of course he did," Alistair muttered he voice becoming a low growl. Deep down he knew his brother would pull something like that, trying to tempt Roselyn away. Make an attempt at presenting Alistair as small and pathetic in Cailan's own shadow. He knew it would happen, but to do so on the day of his wedding was... It hurt. More than Alistair cared to admit.

"I said no." Roselyn touched the lower half of Alistair's arm, bringing his gaze to her. She was sitting up, leaning her weight on her other hand. "I told him that if he touched me again I'd have his hand removed." She tried to comfort him and Alistair forced a smile. "Your brother worries me. I worry he's not... alright."

"I know," Alistair sighed. "He worries me too. He wasn't always like this." Pushing his finger and thumb across his forehead, Alistair's mouth pulled into a half-hearted grin. "If he does anything like that again, you tell me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before." Roselyn nibbled her bottom lip, eyes flickering away, "I didn't want to upset you... It was our wedding and..." She trailed with a feeble shrug. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Alistair assured her, his voice filling with warmth. "Thank you for telling me now." He leaned down, pressing his lips to Roselyn's forehead. "Honesty, right?" He cocked an eyebrow. "That's what we promised?"

"Among other things," Roselyn agreed smiling. She arched her head back, tempting him to kiss her with a brief touch of her lips to his. Alistair complied, grinning into it. His lips moulded over hers, warmth and excitement seeping down through his body. He dug one hand into the covers where he leaned, the other he curved around the base of her skull. He angled her head, skimming his tongue against her bottom lip gently guided her to lie flat. Roselyn's nails pressed into the skin of his arm, her other hand on his shoulder, a handful of his shirt in her fist.

The tip of her tongue trembled against his mouth, seeking entrance which he gave. Every kiss they shared they both grew a little bolder, asking just a little more of each other. Teeth clacking, her tongue slipped between his lips, running rough and tempting against his. A shocking ripple of pleasure shot down Alistair's spine making him shudder and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Roselyn pulled him closer, Alistair leaned over her. No longer supporting his weight on the bed, he slid his hand underneath her back, dragging his fingers over her skin. Roselyn gasped into his mouth arching up into him, her fingers tightened in the material of his shirt, arms draped down over his back. A small groan of discomfort spilled out of Alistair's lips caused by a dull pain in his ribs making itself known. The same heat as before washed over him, making him desperate to continue. He clenched his hand behind her back, grabbing a fist full of her night dress and tugged it up. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, palms spreading over his back drawing him closer into her arms. Climbing onto his knees, a sharp shock of pain shot along Alistair's ribs and he broke away with a weak groan.

"Ow..." He whined and winced, burying his face into the bedding beside Roselyn's head and clutching his side. "Bruised."

"You alright?"

"Give me a minute." He breathed deep through the pain until it subsided and then he dropped onto his side, offering a small rueful smile. Roselyn nestled closer to him until they were nose-to-nose. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Roselyn dulled his words peppering light kisses over his lips. He greeted each kiss, enjoying her eager affection. If he were not riddled with bruises and in pain, he would have reciprocated more.

"I woke you up," Alistair remarked, chuckling. "We should both sleep."

"Do you want to sleep with me?" Roselyn asked him conversationally. It took a moment for him to realise what she said, when he did his eyes slammed open and he backed away enough to see her face clearly. He examined her expression for any deceit or mirth, checking for any trickery. She stared back, gaze steady and unwavering, lips moist, tempting and making him weak.

"Are..." Alistair choked on the high pitched noise which was not his voice. "Are you sure? I ... I mean... if you... that is-- it's... it's fine. I like sleeping on the floor. You don't have to-- because of me. I mean-- It's-- I'm--" Alistair pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Maker's breath, I'm bad at this."

"You really are," Roselyn laughed, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'm suggesting we sleep in the same bed, that's all," she clarified, biting down briefly on the tip of his ear. The gesture made Alistair's stomach flip and he muffled a groan in the bedding. "We should get used to it, at the very least." She spoke a way that was so soothing, almost seductive in its tone. Alistair peered up over his hands. "It's your choice," she reminded him. "No rush."

"I'd like to!" Alistair almost barked, his eagerness over-riding his decorum. Roselyn giggled, touching her fingers to her lips to conceal her amusement. "I mean... I didn't expect..." He admonished himself with a huff. "I'd like to," he repeated.

"Alright then." Roselyn shuffled up the bed until she could settle under the covers. She patted the space beside her pushing back the duvet and blankets a little.

Gulping back the terror which threatened to take him over and make him freeze in place, Alistair grabbed the pillows he had been using as a mattress from the floor and threw them at the head of the bed. He climbed in, punching two pillows to puff them up and pushed his feet under the heavy cover. The mattress sank under his weight, but it was comfortable and soft and he relinquished to the familiar draw of it in an instant.

Lying on his back, Alistair shoved one hand under his head, the other he lay over his chest. Without warning, Roselyn shuffled towards him, draping one arm over his waist. She perched her head on his chest making Alistair adjust his position, the arm on his chest he stretched out underneath her pillows until he was able to curl his arm around her shoulders.

"Is this alright?" Roselyn asked him after minutes of tense silence where they both adjusted to the positions and the intimacy of the moment. Alistair never shared a bed with anyone, and he imagined the first time he and Roselyn shared a bed there would be a barrier between them. He never envisioned this. Her cuddled up against his side, familiar and like it was as easy as breathing. Like it was normal for them, an everyday occurrence.

Yet there she was. Warm and soft, her bare skin under his rough palm, allowing him to trail his fingers down her arms and over her shoulder, stroking in time with his breathing. "Is this comfortable for you? Do you want me to move further off?" He smiled at how attentive she was, wanting to make sure he was happy with the arrangement she suggested.

"I'm fine." He kissed the crown of her head, nuzzling the thick mess of her hair. "This is... I like it. I could get used to it."

"Me too." Roselyn gave a contented sigh. She lifted her head enough that Alistair leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth. "Goodnight then." She settled back down against him, expelling a heavy sigh to relax her body.

Alistair kissed the crown of her head again, cuddling her closer to him. "G'night, Rose." He closed his eyes, ready to welcome the arms of sleep around him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this. First foray into nsfw territory for this story. Not the last. ;D


	10. Chapter 8: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping together in the same bed is not all it's cracked up to be and it takes some getting used to. Luckily, there are other things that can be done in bed except sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins chapter eight! Please enjoy! <3
> 
> \- As always, huge credit to my beta readers razerathane and bluvixen [both on tumblr] without whom this fic probably would never have even got this far. 
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Mature [nsfw]

_Two weeks later.  
Month: Cusp end of Justinian/beginning of Solace_

* * *

 

Roselyn found that sharing a bed with someone was not as romantic as it was made out to be in the novels she was sometimes allowed to indulge in. It was not all close cuddles and soft embraces; it was hot and there were too many limbs to know what to do with. During the first few days of sleeping in the same bed, neither she nor Alistair slept particularly well.

She grew accustomed to the sound of his snores when he slept on the floor, his habits in bed were a different matter. The first night they slept together she tried to sleep with her head perched on his chest, but that resulted in a sore neck in the morning. She also felt too hot in his arms and eventually moved away from him. She was an active sleeper and, according to Alistair, kicked him a few times during the night. She woke up because he rolled onto her hair. She stole the covers, he stole them back. Once she woke because his arm slapped her in the face where he sprawled out over the pillows.

For the first few nights they struggled to find an easy and comfortable way to sleep together which worked for the both of them. They started close together and spread apart during the night until they were on total opposite sides of the bed. They rearranged pillows and blankets, and had separate covers put on the bed in the hopes it would prevent them from stealing from each other.

By the fourth night they were both so sleep deprived that they collapsed into bed after supper and were able to have a full night of rest. No limbs stretching awry, no cover stealing or pillow grabbing, and no kicking or sudden awakenings in the middle of the night. Roselyn fell asleep tucked under the covers with a small space between her and Alistair but could still feel his warmth through the sheets. She woke in the morning on her side of the bed with Alistair sleeping behind her much closer, his arm draped over her hip.

Apparently he pulled her towards the middle of the mattress during the night. Her head still lay on her pillows and she was still on what she considered to be her side of the bed, but both she and Alistair moved in from the edges to meet in the middle where they were both comfortable. At first she put it down to mere coincidence and believed that they would still struggle to sleep together. Yet each morning after, she awoke in much the same position, well rested and with a pleasant thrum of excitement from the result of how close they were.

An exact fortnight after the tourney was the day of the grand masque, an event which signified two things; the end of Roselyn and Alistair's wedding celebrations and the farewell celebration for Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, who were returning to Highever the following day. It was a day Roselyn had been looking forward to since it meant the palace would return to the level of normality she had grown accustomed to in the months before the wedding. Business would resume, and Maric, Alistair, and Cailan would disappear into council every day with the King's closest advisers. Petitioners would be able to request audiences with Maric again and he would resume dealing with the troubles of his realm: land squabbles, disagreements... things considered boring and base which were put aside for the recent weeks of fun and revelry.

Roselyn woke not long after dawn, thin slivers of light filtering through the gaps in the heavy drapes at the window creating sharp, bright daggers on the wall. The now familiar weight of Alistair's arm over her waist kept her from moving too much but she stretched her limbs, enjoying the shudder as they contracted and relaxed. Alistair was a heavier sleeper than her, but her quiver woke him enough for him to shift across the mattress towards her.

He nuzzled the back of her neck and mumbled, "'Ornin'..." His arm dropped lower, palm flat over her belly and he inched her closer to him until her back was flush with his chest. A moment later, a soft snore tumbled out of his mouth. Roselyn smiled to herself, shaking her head a little in her pillows. Her knew her husband liked his sleep. That first night he was asleep before she was when they settled down together, and in the days that followed he was the one who looked the worse for wear out of the two of them. She managed to fight through it for appearances, but Alistair once or twice struggled to keep attention during the day when they were in the company of other people, apparently almost dozing off during his lessons with Ephraim.

Gossip quickly followed their tired appearances and struggles to remain awake, as Roselyn expected it to. People were proud of them and of their "dedication" to producing a grandson for Maric. The rumours grew wilder every time Roselyn heard them and she often had to bite back the threat of laughter when members of the court asked after her occasional yawns and their quick retreats to bed.

Alistair found it hilarious too, often making a game out of it by playing dumb to all the probing questions he was asked and innuendos. More than once Roselyn heard him from across the hall or over the murmur of conversation ask loudly: "do you mean are we having sex?" The questions soon stopped after the court realised they would get no information out of Alistair or her what it came to the subject of their life behind the bed chamber door.

As it was, their life in their bed chamber was much the same as it was before they started sleeping together. They still changed away from the eyes of the other, though Alistair sometimes walked around without a shirt on while he was changing. The first few times Roselyn kept her eyes averted, but the more it happened the less she thought it an accident on Alistair's part and she began to look at him when his attention was elsewhere.

She knew how muscular he was just from holding him against her whenever they kissed, but he was more than that. He was broad across his shoulders, his muscles tight and controlled even when he was relaxed. She enjoyed watching his chest expand and contract on his breaths and when he spoke. His skin was darker than hers and even under his clothes was almost sun-kissed in its colour. His torso as wide as it was across his shoulders, narrowed attractively at his waist. The muscles in his abdomen were hard and toned from years of wielding a sword and shield. There was a fine layer of dark gold hair across his chest and a darker line of hair which led down from his belly button underneath his breeches - which was often where her gaze followed and lingered longer than she cared to admit. His back was toned too, the muscles around his shoulders and in his arms rippled when he stretched to pull a shirt on.

He was, by Roselyn's standards, beautiful to look at and she enjoyed looking at him. More than once she found herself biting her lip as heady warmth settled between her legs. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to caress, bite or kiss his skin - depending on how she felt at the time - but those were urges she had yet to act on.

Knowing that Alistair would sleep for a few hours longer, Roselyn gave a deep, satisfied sigh as she settled into her pillows and into Alistair's body, which was cocooned around her. She squeezed his hand where it lay flush against her belly and relaxed into the easiness and familiarity of it all.

As she dozed, part way between awake and asleep she noticed Alistair growing restless. What started first as the occasional clenching of his hand, a soft grumble, and a shifting of his body became more insistent. She listened as his mumbles became soft sighs and shuddering moans muffled against the back of her neck. He started to move behind her, his hips rocking, his pelvis rubbing against her backside through her night dress. His fingers fisted the cotton material at her belly while Roselyn lay stunned and still, uncertain what to do - if she should do anything.

Alistair sighed, his breath sending her loose hair fluttering over her cheek. Roselyn felt his hard length pushing and rutting against the backs of her thighs through the fabric of his loose breeches. A flush swept over her cheeks making her face burn. It felt good to her, a new experience coupled with new sensations flooding her senses. Heat bubbled in her gut, building from a base and primal pleasure powering through her body. She dug one hand into her pillow, holding her breath to stay silent and made a subtle, clumsy move of her hips, responding to Alistair's drowsy ministrations.

Within a few tense minutes she was able to match his rhythm and they were moving in tandem. Alistair's pelvis pressed flush into Roselyn's buttocks, his erection rubbing her haunches. His hand at her waist moved to grasp her hip, his fingers digging with bruising strength in her flesh and bone. His steady strokes grew faster and more desperate, causing Roselyn's night dress to climb up her legs until it was crumpled around her thighs and she could feel the fabric of his own bed clothes against her bare skin.

Her arousal pooling between her legs, Roselyn tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and reached down with her free hand to stroke herself through her damp small clothes. Sliding her fingers against her heat in time with the way she ground her hips back into Alistair's pelvis, she found herself gasping and biting down on her pillow to stay quiet. The idea of Alistair waking and finding her so compromised was a threat, one she only vaguely worried about over the distracting burning haze which settled in her mind and spurred her on.

Slipping her hand between the gusset of her smalls, Roselyn felt through the coarse hair of her mound to tease her fingers over the sensitive pulsating nub so desperate for attention. Her whole body jerked at the first brush the tips of her fingers made and she moaned into her pillow. She spread her lower lips, circling her middle finger around her clit which made her shudder. Alistair ground his length against her arse, pressing hard and a quavering groan escaped his mouth muffled by his lips against the top of her back.

Roselyn's skin prickled, more sensitive under the warmth and pleasure which assaulted her senses. Alistair's lips puckered against her skin trailing white hot kisses up from her shoulder to her ear. His teeth closed around her ear lobe, he tugged with a soft growl, nibbling at her skin. Only a little aware of anything happening beyond the building pressure between her thighs, Roselyn arched into the touch of his hand as she felt it trail languid strokes underneath her night dress over her waist and down making goose bumps stand erect in the wake of his fingers. His hand closed around her wrist tucked between her legs, his thumb drawing lazy circles over where her pulse thrummed.

"Rose..?" His lips moving along her skin and the soft rumble of his voice caused Roselyn to freeze, and her fingers to still. Clamping her legs together, she clenched her eyes shut in the hopes she could somehow pretend what she was doing she was doing in her sleep. To be caught in the midst of pleasuring herself - she was mortified! The act of it was one she had only ever experienced in private and was something she had always been led to believe it was only done by harlots and whores, not 'proper young women.'

All the enjoyable tingling heat she had felt now turned to cold dread. She wasn't sure whether to cry or to scream or to scrabble out of bed and get as far away from Alistair as possible. Every option seemed viable and preferable to admitting what she had been doing.

"Do you want some help?" She bit down on the inside of her cheek, Alistair's conversational almost mocking tone making her blush hotly with embarrassment.

Why hadn't he said something when he woke up!?

"Rose?" She cracked open one eye to watch him as he moved. Alistair rose up on to an elbow behind her making the mattress dip and forcing her to roll towards him until she was on her back. She pulled her pillow with her and hid underneath it, pressing it down into her face with one hand. "Wife," Alistair chuckled, "what are you doing?"

"You're a bastard."

"That is true." He eased her pillow out of her hands and Roselyn smothered her face in her palms, refusing to look at him until she stopped burning "Why are you hiding?" A soft kiss tickled Roselyn's skin where her neck and shoulder met.

"You could have said you were awake!"

"Why?" Alistair inquired, applying more pleasurable kisses to her flesh and making it tingle under his lips. "You were making the most... _fascinating_ noises." His teeth skimmed over her jaw bone until he reached her ear once more. "I was enjoying listening to you," he told her, voice husky and the caress of his lips on the shell of her ear making Roselyn whimper weakly.

The warmth of her cheeks grew hotter and Roselyn pressed her hands tighter to her face to hide. Alistair chuckled against her skin, kissing just below her ear. Tilting her head, Roselyn willingly yielded to him, unable to stop the small smile breaking out over her lips. He kept one hand up by her head, leaning on his elbow. The other remained lower, tickling and teasing over the flesh of her abdomen and belly making and nerves and muscles twitch in response to his attention. He inched her night dress further up and his fingers circled and smoothed around her belly button, drifting lower over her hip bones and testing at the edges of her small clothes. Roselyn arched into his soft touch, refusing to recognise the way everything inside her trembled under his wandering hands.

"You started it," she huffed through a gap in her hands unable to think of a better response. "You were... rutting."

"I could help finish it," Alistair's answered without missing a beat. His voice was gravelly rumble beside her ear and an involuntary shiver ripped down her spine. "If you want?"

Lowering her hands so she could at least peek over the tips of her fingers, Roselyn wondered where Alistair's sudden confidence had come from. She was used to him being as shy and uncertain as she was; carefully flirtatious, always testing the waters. Not like this, with bold remarks and low, gruff tones while kissing her neck and nibbling at her ear. Though she was not adverse to either side of him - this new side was exhilarating after all - she found herself uncertain how to respond.

By the Maker his offer was tempting. A very base and aroused part of her screamed at to accept him. To throw all caution to the wind and let him have her there and then, as roughly and as many times as he pleased. Until they were both drenched in each other's sweat and their lust satiated. It was a loud part of her. A part of her that had her heart beating wildly and fuelled that pulsing desire between her legs. It was hard not to listen to it. Hard not to give in to it. But Roselyn focused her mind with a deep breath, quelling that voice for a moment.

Her hesitation seemed enough to give Alistair pause. He leaned away from her, giving her some space to breathe and so she could look at him. Visually he was unchanged: his cheeks a little more flushed than usual, his hair a mess from his sleeping, and his eyes still sleep weighted. But he was still Alistair, her husband.

"I'm only..." His confidence retreated in the wake of her uncertainty. "It's up to you... probably a stupid idea, anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck, mouth cracking into a lop-sided grin. "I'd be all hands."

As he began to move further off, Roselyn grabbed him, draping her arms around his neck so he couldn't move too far. He was stunned for a moment, but then resumed his place over her, taking his weight on one arm. "It's not... that," she mumbled, averting her gaze. "It’s..." She nibbled at her bottom lip wondering how best to explain.

She wanted to continue. She was enjoying what they were doing before. She liked the feel of him, the way her body reacted in ways she never experienced when she touched and pleasured herself on her own. But there was more than that - she didn't know what he expected from this... if what they were doing before was even considered normal. The thought of their relationship growing more intimate and more physical  made Roselyn's stomach turn over with a dizzying mixture of thrilling anticipation and terror. Each time she and Alistair were together there were hints at things progressing. His hands would travel a little lower, their kisses would last longer and be harder to break. His gestures were growing bolder, more ardent, and confident.

That was where the issue lay: it was him. Always him growing bolder in his affections. She was still timid and reserved, uncertain of what would be considered proper for her to do or to know. While she had no experience, she knew enough about her own body, about what felt good and what didn't. She could guide him, but that wasn't considered proper. She did not wish for Alistair to think her loose or wanton, but she did not wish to remain shy and chaste forever.

"Rose," Alistair dropped his head to press a soft kiss to her mouth which she welcomed. "Rose, talk to me."

Locking her gaze with Alistair's for a moment, Roselyn sighed loudly and closed her eyes, trying to measure out her words. "I was enjoying ... that." She gestured vaguely and cursed the heat that leapt to her face and chest.

Above her Alistair laughed through his nose. "So was I."

"And I... would like to... continue..."

"But...?"

"But I don't... want to go too far. And I... I don't want you to think that I am... uh..." She tilted her head trying to think of the right word. Alistair brushed her hair away from her face with his fingers, waiting patiently while laying feather soft kisses at the corners of her mouth and over her lips. "That I..." Roselyn swallowed hard, his affections making her stomach coil and knot and her desires reignite. "Th-that..." Her heart fluttered behind her ribs, leaping into her throat when she felt Alistair's free hand resume its journey over her torso, gliding over her belly and her navel, sweeping across her skin. "You're not helping," she grumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck. He swept his tongue across her bottom lip, grinning against her mouth as he kissed her.

"I'm sorry," Alistair smirked pulling away a little. "You were saying?"

"I just don't want this to make you think less of me," Roselyn replied, pushing one hand up into Alistair's hair to bring his mouth down to hers again. The other she smoothed up over his back under his shirt, following the dip of his spine up to his shoulder blades. She raked her nails down his back making him groan into her lips. He drove his pelvis against her leg shuddering and his fingers grasped at her waist pulling her flush against him.

Following the insistent direction of his hands, Roselyn rolled onto her side and hooked her top leg up over Alistair's hip. His tongue moved rushed and clumsy over hers, enthusiasm and ardour making him fumble. She was as awkward as he was, hands moving everywhere without a purpose, her own need and hunger for him pushing her through the nervous laughter and uncertain gestures.

Alistair dragged his fingers down the bare skin of her thigh and dug them into her backside when he trailed his hand back up. As her shift bunched around her waist, Roselyn tried to focus on remembering to breathe through the unfamiliar excitement coursing through her body. All she felt was adrenaline and burning heat. Even under her flimsy cotton nightgown she was too hot and she wanted to rip it off over her head, but stopped herself. That was an element she was not ready to add to this already stewing pot. Her clothes were to remain on - for now.

Alistair's were a different matter. As he drove his hips against her, one of his hands stretched across the base of her back while the other held her still. He rubbed and rocked his length against her mound while Roselyn pushed his bed shirt over his chest until it was rumpled under his arms. He pulled it off over his head with a muffled grumble, mouths parting for a moment only to meet again, their kissing resuming in earnest.

His lips trembled beneath hers. Soft moans spilled into her mouth from his when she nibbled his bottom lip or tugged against the soft flesh with her teeth. She wound her hands up the broad plain of his chest, taking time to revel and enjoy the twitching of his muscles.

Without warning Alistair squeezed his hand into her backside, making her squeal and giggle in a mixture of delight and surprise. Rolling onto his back he guided Roselyn with him until she was kneeling over his hips, balancing herself with her hands pressed against his abdomen feeling it rise and fall with his hurried breaths.

Breaking the kiss enough to lift her head and look at him, Alistair chased air through his mouth, smoothing his hands up and down Roselyn's bare thighs. Sweeping her hair over one shoulder, Roselyn bit her bottom lip, wriggling and writhing to grow more comfortable on top of him. The sensation of being so close, his erection cushioned between the lips of her sex and her under garments was new and different, but not unpleasant. She watched Alistair's face contort into a not quite pained expression with her every move. Through his loose breeches and her small clothes she could feel his shaft hard and almost pulsing, which only added further fuel to ache Roselyn felt.

She moved - clumsy and shy, but she moved - rubbing her pelvis against him causing a sharp delicious shudder of bliss to rip through her body. Alistair failed to bite back a moan, his head arching back into his pillows. He pressed his fingers into her haunches and bit his lips into his mouth. Quirking a brow, smiling to herself, Roselyn replicated the movement, grinding her hips slow and long in a vague circle.

Alistair groaned. "Maker's breath-- Rose!"

"Yes?" Roselyn questioned him conversationally, feeling her confidence grow little-by-little.

She leaned forward, sliding her hands up over Alistair's abdomen and chest, taking the time to follow each rise and fall of his ribs scratching her nails over his skin leaving faint marks. She followed her hands with her lips, kissing and biting down at different places. Each soft bite causing him to illicit a sharp gasp and each kiss a pleasant little noise, almost like a growl. Driving her hips again, she nipped and kissed her way up his throat, appreciating how he gulped and swallowed; until her mouth lingered beside his ear. Alistair released a soft, rumbling moan, pulling her down against him and steering her to move again.

Another gradual grind of her hips had them both shuddering, the hardness of his cock pushing against her at her crux, the material of her small clothes creating a delicious friction. "Does..." Roselyn nibbled the lobe of his ear, acting on and led by the approving noises he made. "Does it feel good?" she asked him, flushing hot on her cheeks, pleased her face was hidden.

"Y-yes," Alistair gave a sharp exhalation, air whooshing out of his mouth. Without warning he turned his head to capture her lips. Winding one hand up into Roselyn's hair he kissed her hard and long, his hips rising and rocking at a slow, languid pace.

Roselyn fought for breath, caught between delirium and awareness. It felt as if her body reacted and moved all on its own. She gyrated her hips along his length and in gradual circles, instinct and Alistair's hand digging into her backside the only leadership she needed. His kisses were short but fierce, broken by gasps and groans with each sensual grind. Roselyn pushed the fingers of one hand through his hair, supporting her weight on the other hand beside Alistair's head as she rocked and fretted, building to a pace.

Her stomach clenched and simmered. New electrifying heat and desire developing in her core and seeping down to inflame the warmth between her thighs. This - _this_ was better than anything she could do alone. Hearing Alistair's voice, his moans and his quick breaths, to know she was responsible for his reaction and his response, it made her fervour and her hunger build faster and faster until it was a bunched, tight tension in her gut.

On releasing her head, Alistair grasped her hips with both hands. He held her still but pressed her down against him so she could feel his erection more keenly through their clothes. He moved his hips, rutting and rubbing against her, eyes half-hooded watching her with a small, proud smile on his face. Seeing him watching her, knowing how her cheeks were scarlet and her brow was sweaty, Roselyn giggled and hid away from him by burying her face into his shoulder while kissing his neck.

Her whole body seemed to tremble out of control, her nerves fizzing, her skin quivering and so sensitive to touch that even the briefest brush of her nightgown brought a new layer of enjoyment to what they shared now. Only vaguely aware that she started to meet Alistair's long, hard thrusts with subtle movements of her hips, Roselyn crushed her lips to his, her voice shuddering into his mouth.

"Alistair--" She spoke with little more than a strangled mewl, and Alistair chuckled against her lips. She wanted to scold him, but another quick thrust and that thought vanished from her head, replaced only by the hazy pleasure over taking every inch of her. His hands at her thighs set their pace, his thrusts and the steady rock of his hips making the pooling heat she felt coil and feel ready to burst. Squeezing her arse in his rough hands, Alistair crushed her harder against him. "Sweet Maker," Roselyn gasped a sudden sensuous shock rippling through her body. She dropped her head beside his, her hair spilling out over his chest and her back. "Alistair-!"

"Y-you alright?" he asked her between sharply inhaled breaths.

"Mhm-hm," she nodded, digging her fingers into the covers and pillows. "Don't stop." She realised she was practically begging, and found she did not care. Nothing had ever made her feel this good. Nothing could have prepared her for the way her body would react when being pleasured and pleased in such a primal and intimate way. The sensations were intoxicating, she could only compare it to being pleasantly drunk and all she wanted was more. She wanted to reach the blissful peak she was chasing, so close she could almost taste it. "Please, don't stop."

Her climax came upon her almost out of nowhere, shuddering through her body from her core making her quake and every one of her hairs stand to attention. Alistair grappled to hold her, his fingers brushing the insides of her thighs adding a sudden new layer of secret pleasure. He drove his pelvis, rubbing at the sweet, sensitive spot between her legs and dropped his head back into the pillows, growling Roselyn's name. One thrust, then a second, Roselyn's whole body went white hot and ridged, her blood almost boiling in her skin. Every inch of her seemed to sing, her muscles tightened, her heart rattled around in her chest, and the tight winding coil in her gut released in a wave of ecstasy flooding over her. She muffled her satisfied shivering groan against Alistair's shoulder, clenching her eyes shut through the aftershocks until she could see spots on the inside of her eyelids.

Alistair toppled moments later, his hips raised, his cock cushioned against her, and his body going shockingly still. A deep, rough moan spilled out of his mouth and he clutched tight to the flesh of her backside and thighs, his nails making small grooves in her skin. When he rubbed against her riding out his orgasm with slower strokes, Roselyn twitched in reaction to each motion.

For minutes afterwards as they both caught their breath and came down from their dizzying heights, Alistair stroked her back with his fingertips. His grasping hands were replaced by gentle caresses, touching her as though she were a delicate figure made of the finest glass. Roselyn focused on the breaths Alistair took, slow, steady and calming. She felt the rise and fall of his chest and tried to match her breathings to his. He was sweaty beneath her, and her own perspiration made her night dress and hair cling to her body. Her heart beat too fast and almost felt painful in her chest, but was matched by the powerful drumming reverberation back from behind Alistair's rib cage.

"Rose?" Alistair nudged the side of her temple with his nose and she moaned in response, her body trembling and weary as the last dregs of her orgasm began to recede. With a chuckle, Alistair slid one arm around her back and the other around backs of her thighs. "Come on, you." He rolled onto his side with her so she lay facing him in the middle of their bed. "Seriously now," he began to clear the messy tendrils of her hair away from her brow. "Are you alright?" He looked at her, his eyes warm but his expression drawn into one of unease. Touched by his concern for her wellbeing, Roselyn reached out to stroke his face, smiling at the way he turned his head to brush his lips across her palm. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Mhm-hm," she nodded. He plucked at the hem of her shift and she watched him ease it down over her hips and legs, covering her up in the way she would have done if she could remember how to make her fingers move. "M'sorry..."

His eyes widened, "Why? What for?"

"If I wasn't..." she began then stopped, turning her face to hide in the pillows. "Never mind."

"You're adorable," Alistair laughed, nuzzling at her neck and shoulder. She tried to swat him away with one hand. He grasped it in his own and kissed her fingertips. He manoeuvred her onto her back until he was lying above her. "Answer me one thing," he requested, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"What's that?"

"What did you mean you didn't want me to think less of you?" he asked her, head tilted to one side as he peered at her from above. "Why would I think less of you? For what?"

"Oh..." Roselyn puffed her cheeks out. "It's ... what we just did I don't want you to think that's something I do a lot. Or... have ever done... before. Actually."

Alistair's expression contorted into a puzzled frown. "Why would I think that?"

"I don't know." Roselyn shook her head. "I just read that only whores and harlots do... _that._ "

"Oh!" he chuckled. "Where did you read that? I want to read this book."

"Stop teasing me."

"Me tease you?" he gasped in mock indignation. "I would never."

She squinted at him. "You're far too cheerful for so early in the morning," she grumbled, rolling onto her front and hugging her pillows to her chest. A few seconds later and she felt Alistair's lips grazing up the skin of her back where the neckline of her night dress ended. Her skin trembled under the pleasurable caress of his mouth no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.

"If it matters, I don't think any less of you," he murmured against her flesh making her shudder. "I don't think you could do anything to make me think less of you." He perched his chin on her shoulder blade. "I..." He made a sharp inhalation and Roselyn held her breath dreading what he might say next. She wasn't ready for him to say if he loved her. She didn't know if she loved him. She was fond of him, but love was something else entirely. Love was big and scary. It was hard work and messy and complicated and she didn't want him to say it and not say anything back. "I like you..." Alistair said finally, his voice low. "Very much."

Relieved, Roselyn turned her head to try and see him over her shoulder. "I like you, too." She smiled at the drowsy grin he showed her and nestled towards him. "Now go back to sleep, husband." She prodded the end of his nose with her finger watching him wrinkle his nose in reaction to her playful jab. "We have a busy night ahead of us."

"Ah yes..." Alistair flopped on to his back, "the grand finale."

Roselyn shifted towards him and Alistair wrapped one arm around her shoulders bringing her closer. "At least once tonight is over things here will return back to normal."

"As normal as they can be at least," sniffed Alistair, brushing his thumb across his nose. "The Orlesian ambassadors are extending their stay."

"Oh?" Roselyn lifted her head, curious. "Why are they here anyway? Not for us?"

He shook his head, smoothing the tresses of her messy hair across her shoulders, distracting himself. "Not for us at all, actually. It's a quiet yearly event where ambassadors from Orlais come here and ambassadors from Ferelden go to Orlais," he explained, stretching his free arm behind his head. "They go over the treaties written up when the Orlesian occupation ended and then they go home."

"Every year?" Roselyn quirked a brow. "Why? To make sure neither side reneges on the agreements?"

"Something like that," Alistair shrugged. "In the past it's been a small thing with the King and a few witnesses. This year..." Roselyn watched as Alistair pursed his lips in thought. "This year Cailan was one of the witnesses."

Narrowing her eyes a little, Roselyn pressed. "What's so strange about that? He's going to be King. He needs to know the customs."

"True," Alistair replied. He turned his head, masking his troubled expression with a swift grin. "I don't know why they do it. The Orlesians hate coming here, they think we're barbaric."

"Well, I'm sure the Orlesians would know all about that. They wrote the book on barbarism after all," Roselyn gave a sharp snort of derision. "Look at the way they treat elves."

"Hm," Alistair agreed before stretching. Roselyn marvelled at the ways his muscles shuddered and at the satisfied groan Alistair gave when his body relaxed. "Speaking of elves." He circled an arm around Roselyn's waist drawing her towards him. "I heard there's been some progress in the rebuilding of the Alienage."

"You father came through on his promises?"

"So I'm told. Materials have been ordered at least."

"Then why do you look so..." She cocked her head to one side, smoothing her fingers down across his face. "Troubled?"

"Because my father rarely does anything unless there's something in it for him," explained Alistair his mouth quirking to one side. "And I've tried to wrap my head around what repairing the Alienage gets him and can't figure it out."

"The elves will be more peaceful. They'll be happy, no more potential uprising," Roselyn suggested reasonably.

"That's the thing." A wry chuckle bubbled up from Alistair's chest, his mouth twisting into a grim smile. "He would relish an uprising. A chance to lead an army? Even against ill-equipped elves, his own people? He would do it in a second."

"Maybe he just needs some guidance in the right direction," said Roselyn settling down beside Alistair, draping one arm out over his bare waist. She tickled her fingers in random shapes and letters over his skin, enjoying how she could feel his nerves responding to her touch. "You could guide him."

"He has Cailan for that," Alistair rumbled, his own fingers moving over the back of Roselyn's neck and shoulders. "He doesn't listen to me..." he trailed, his voice growing distant. "I'm only here in case Cailan dies, remember? The _spare_." He almost spat the word full of distaste, virtually venomous in how he referred to himself.

Roselyn lifted herself onto her elbow and cupped Alistair's face with her hand which had previously been drawing across his skin. She brushed her thumb across his cheek, over his stubble and the short beard on his chin. "You are so much more than that," she told him, her gaze and words unwavering in her conviction. "No matter what Maric or Cailan think, you are so much more than that. And you're going to prove it to them."

The candour and ardency of her words clearly took Alistair by surprise - his eyes widened and he opened his mouth a little to speak. Catching himself, his expression softened and he brought a hand up to Roselyn's at his cheek. He turned his head to graze his lips across the palm of her hand while gently holding her fingers.

"Maybe." He managed to smile a little. "If I've got someone as strong as you on my side."

"You could prove it without me," Roselyn remarked. Alistair's arm across her back tightened bringing her closer. "But now you've got me, I'm on your side. Always."

"Oh really?" Alistair lifted an eyebrow, treating her to a shrewd and playful look. "So, even if I'm wrong you'll tell me how brilliant and clever I am?" he teased, attacking her neck with his mouth making wild laughter erupt from her chest as she tried to fight him off. "You'll follow my every whim, like a good wife?"

"I didn't say that!" she, shrieked rolling onto her back under Alistair's weight. "I take it back!" She giggled, bracing her arms on his shoulders feeling his teeth nip at the column of her neck and draw upwards towards her ear. A pleasing sensation which made her stomach toss and clench. "I take it back!"

Chuckling, Alistair left her neck to press a kiss to her mouth silencing both their laughter, a satisfied appreciative murmur replacing it. Roselyn slid her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth a fraction on a shaky sigh. She shifted to his hands spreading over her back taking his weight and stroked her fingers down his jaw when he broke away, his cheeks pink.

"You don't always have to be on my side," Alistair explained, his words overflowing with affection. He nuzzled Roselyn's forehead with his own. "Whatever you give me, I'll take it."

* * *

 

[Gorgeous chapter art commissioned from JaneARTS on tumblr].

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this half of the chapter! Concluding half coming soon!


	11. Chapter 8: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the masque begins, Alistair begins to suspect things are not quite as they seem. As he and Roselyn are about to make a hasty exit, Maric is faced with a dilemma which endangers them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight concludes here. Thanks for your patience. 
> 
> \- As always, huge credit to my beta readers razerathane and bluvixen [both on tumblr] without whom this fic probably would never have even got this far.
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Teen

* * *

 

The celebration in the evening was not to officially commence until the opening masquerade was performed. A playful and indulgent routine where the young men of Maric's court, including Alistair and Cailan, entered in disguise wearing masks in the design of different animals. Once they entered the great hall, they would seek out their wives or young women claiming them as their partners for the evening. It was not usually done in a Ferelden court; to parade and create ornate acts like this. This was more for the ambassadors who would be watching - another effort on Maric's behalf to make them feel welcome and to try and show off.

As with the wedding reception, the great hall was changed and decorated accordingly. The long tables were pushed to the edges of the room to make space for dancing and mingling. Up on the dais was the King's table, his chair bedecked in heavy furs and gold leaves making it a centre piece of the room. Musicians were also playing a selection of jaunty tunes and slower ones to set the atmosphere.

Along the walls hung drapes of Theirin gold and scarlet, interjected with Cousland navy and silver, and a softer, more muted gold and pale green to honour the Orlesian guests. The dishes prepared were a mixture of Orlesian and Ferelden culture and those in attendance were encouraged to dress or wear something to make the honoured guests feel more at home and welcome.

Alistair was up in the gallery with his brother and fifteen or so other men around their age. Sons, cousins and nephews of other courtiers. Some were married, others were in the process of courting. Regardless of their status they all jostled and muttered to each other pointing out different women in the room below who conversed casually with each other and other guests.

His costume and Cailan's had been chosen for him by Maric. Lions for the pair of them, wearing different shades of brown and orange to imitate the manes. Both their masks ended half way down their faces, obscuring only their eyes and nose. Each mask was hand decorated and beautiful, but uncomfortable. Wearing his made Alistair sweat , so any time he had a chance he took it off. Around him were masks of other animals, hiding the faces of those wearing them. A pair of wolves conspiring in one corner, a falcon, a boar, and a snake all laughing and drinking through the mouths of their masks, leering over the banister and their 'prey' below. It was part of the Orlesian culture Alistair didn't understand; the necessity for masks, to hide ones true face. He liked to look at people directly when he spoke to them - masks hid true intentions. But the masque was more for the Orlesians than for himself or Roselyn, so what he felt did not matter.

Out of the sea of shining masks, flamboyant gestures, and ostentatious clothing, Roselyn was easy to pick out. He knew only that her costume was meant to represent a peacock and in his observations he had only spotted one mask decorated with a flourish of peacock feathers. Her dress matched the colours too: a shimmering teal fabric which seemed to flow to different shades of blue and green when she moved. She kept close to the dais and top tables with her parents - Eleanor disguised as a dove and Bryce as a wyvern - and with Anora, who was a vision in a gown of white-gold colour and a mask meant to symbolise a swan.

He kept his gaze firmly on Roselyn, watching how she turned her head to glance up at him every minute or so as if checking he was still there, leaning on the wooden railing. Like his mask, hers only hid half her face, so he caught the ghost of a smile tickling at her lips each time she saw him, and he returned it with a broad grin of his own.

If his father had told him four months ago the woman he was being told to marry would make him happy, he would have laughed in his face. His dread towards the marriage had been unmatched, and yet now he was in a happier state than he ever found himself. He found in Roselyn someone he never thought he would find; someone who accepted him, low birth, mixed heritage and all. She was kind and used that as a strength in a world where it was often seen as a weakness. The honesty she demonstrated towards him and her steadfast resolve were impressive, too. Almost a month married and they were still happy, which was more than could be said for Cailan and Anora after a month of marriage. He was happy they took their time with their relationship. Despite the outside pressures from their respective parents, no one was going to force them to speed things up. Their life was theirs, and they would live it in their own time; a mantra Alistair was not sure he would have been able to stick to without Roselyn on his side.

He felt his brother's presence before he saw it, his footsteps approaching behind him lumbering on the wood. Cailan had his hair tied back and his mask lifted so it perched on his forehead. Alistair held his in his hand where he was leaning and inched away from Cailan when he joined him. Cailan's nose was still bruised from where Alistair punched him, not broken but sore. Seeing the bruise made a base sense of pride rise in Alistair's chest, to know he was the one to inflict the injury.

"Enjoying the view, little brother?" Cailan asked him.

Since the tourney, they had spoken very little. Alistair avoided Cailan, not wanting to hear a half-hearted explanation for his outburst, and Cailan did not seek Alistair out to apologise or to explain. Meals where the pair of them were forced to sit close together were uncomfortable for everyone involved. As far as Alistair knew, Roselyn was the only one who was aware of what transpired between himself and Cailan. Anora probably knew something was wrong, too. Not much got past her, but she was too polite to ask. Maric, of course, would have put their icy demeanour towards one another down to Alistair being sore about Cailan beating him in public at his wedding tourney.

"What do you want, Cailan?" Alistair tightened his grip on his mask, not trying to conceal his lingering resentment.

"Is that anyway to speak to me?" draping his arm around Alistair's shoulders, he grabbed him in a headlock, ruffling his knuckles across his hair. "Your own beloved brother?" Cailan laughed, only angering Alistair further.

"Get off!" Alistair shoved him away hard, putting a foot or two between them. Cailan was shocked for a moment but regained his composure with a swiftness Maric would be proud of. Hiding his surprise behind a veneer of indifference and a short chuckle. As far as Alistair was concerned, Cailan did not require a physical mask, he wore one already.

"Still sore about the tournament?"

Alistair snorted and resumed his place on the railing. "That isn't why I'm angry and you know it." Cailan stood beside him, replicating his stance. Alistair watched his brother's gaze as it peered down at the people and the bodies below. A protective flare sparked when he noticed Cailan's eyes find and linger too long on Roselyn. "Mind where your eyes stray," he warned him in a low, rumbling growl.

"Your Highever rose brushes up well, I'll give her that," Cailan sneered, leaning his elbows on the wood, "but I have bigger, more impressive flowers in my future, little brother."

Narrowing his eyes, Alistair watched Cailan's face for any indication of what he meant. Any betrayal of his thoughts or what he may have been hinting at. He observed for several seconds and yet nothing on Cailan's face changed. His small, pleased smile remained the same size, his eyes did not flicker to any particular woman in the room. He was completely still except for his breathing.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Alistair asked, finally giving in to his curiosity.

Cailan's smile grew. "I may not be lumped with a barren wife for much longer." He explained to Alistair as if describing something to a child. "Then we shall see who is in our father's favour."

"Still harping on about that, are you?" Alistair huffed noticing the master of ceremonies at the door to the gallery summoning the men gathered to him. Alistair slid his mask over his face, grimacing at how tight it felt and how rough it was on his skin. "You need to grow up, Cailan."

He followed the other men and allowed himself to be arranged into the formation in which they would all enter. He and Cailan stood in the middle of the crowd and when the doors opened downstairs to reveal them all in their finery with a blast from the trumpets, they would fan out to find their partners.

Despite his attempt to be nonchalant to his brother's cryptic words, they weighed on Alistair's mind as he jogged down the steps with the others. There was no way their father would allow Cailan to divorce Anora, not if he wanted to keep his friendship with Teryn Loghain in tact. The two of them were close; Loghain helped Maric reclaim his throne over twenty years previous after all. To snub him in such a way as to allow Cailan to divorce his daughter was... Well, it was insane. Especially when Anora's inability to conceive most likely stemmed from Cailan's inability to be faithful. To pass her over for a crime which was Cailan's was unkind at the very least, cruel and malicious at the very worst. Anora did not deserve to be shafted for Cailan's mistakes. And if that was the plan Cailan and Maric were concocting Alistair would fight against it tooth and nail, as he knew Roselyn would. He owed Anora more than he ever thought he would. She had been instrumental in helping he and Roselyn get time together before the wedding. Without her, he was certain their marriage would be awkward and unfamiliar still.

There was also the question of who Cailan would marry if he was to divorce Anora. It would not be another woman from Ferelden. If Loghain and Maric's friendship survived Anora being put aside for someone else, it would not survive Cailan taking another Ferelden woman as his wife. No, it would be someone foreign. Political, perhaps?

It was as the doors opened to the blare of trumpets that a thought came upon Alistair. The glimmer of Orlesian colours and how _Orlesian_ everyone looked. If Anora and Cailan's marriage was to be put aside, he would be matched with someone from Orlais. Perhaps the Empress herself. It all made sense to him: the extension of the ambassadors stay, how hard Maric worked to make them feel welcome, how little nuances of Orlesian life and style were seeping into the court.

Jostled and shoved by those around him as they raced ahead to find their wives and those their affections lingered on, Alistair was swift to follow, stalking through the people like a predator after its prey no longer in the mood for games and frivolity. Around him where sharp shrieks of glee and laughter from all sides. People and skirts swishing aside to make way for him and his compatriots on their hunt. Those who found their partners took them aside to dance as they music swelled. In his watching from the gallery Alistair knew where Roselyn would be and made a beeline through the crowd in the direction of the dais and the high tables towards where he knew she would be waiting.

He was there a moment too late. Cailan reached the group first and instead of sweeping Anora into the bodies dancing in the centre of the room, he stole Roselyn away. He yanked her into his arms with a roughness which made Alistair want to rip Cailan's mask off and punch his brother to the ground.

He stood stunned and still for a few seconds, started from his shock by Anora taking his arm. "Don't worry," she spoke with a soft calmness, "Roselyn can handle Cailan." She offered a supportive smile from beneath her mask. "Shall we dance instead?"

Swallowing his bubbling rage, Alistair nodded his assent and led Anora into the fray, jerking his head this way and that to keep an eye on Roselyn and where his brother's hands drifted. He and Anora followed the leaders, the two of them being well versed in the music and dances of Ferelden which - mercifully - had not been changed for the more complicated dances of Orlais. With one couple between him and Cailan it proved a difficult task to keep a watchful gaze.

"Roselyn will be fine," Anora told him for what might have been the sixth time since Cailan had stolen her away. "I imagine she's telling him all the horrible things she thinks about him."

"She shouldn't have to," Alistair sighed, lifting Anora from the ground in unison with the others. He knew she was trying to quell his concerns, but her attempts did little to help him. "I was too slow."

"You looked a bit lost when the doors opened," Anora told him, placing one hand in his and her free hand on his shoulder.

"I was..." Alistair caught himself, peering down at his sister-in-law through his mask. "Distracted." He never knew what to think with Anora. While he liked her and appreciated her, she often left him feeling lost and a little foolish. She never gave too much away and she always looked as though she knew more about what was happening around her than anyone else did. As if what was going on was part of some plan only she was privy to. It was unnerving how calm and collected she could be in the face of calamity and madness. Grasping some sense of courage and an essence of wanting to be supportive towards her Alistair asked, "Do you know why the ambassadors extended their stay?"

"No," Anora replied, sweeping underneath his arm and turning twice before reeling back into hold. "But I can guess."

"Oh?" He asked with genuine interest. She sounded so sure of herself, so confident. Even if she did not have a clue and was fishing for information as he was, she would have fooled anyone. "And what do you think the reason is?"

"Now Alistair," she teased him after a brief pause, "a good card player never reveals their hand."

"We aren't playing cards, Anora."

"I know," her mouth pulled into a wry, one sided smile, "but I never say what I am thinking until I have the facts to back me up." The music came to a stop and the couples stopped too. A small ripple of applause started for the musicians. "But don't worry. If it is what I think, I will do everything in my power to prevent it." The conviction and steel steadiness to her words made Alistair's skin chill. Anora was the daughter of the Hero of Riverdane. Loghain was as steadfast as a boulder, and that was clearly a trait instilled in her.

"I'm on your side," Alistair mumbled to Anora as the applause died. "I know Rose is too."

"And I'm grateful for that," Anora muttered back, sliding her hand into the crook of Alistair's elbow as he guided them back to Eleanor and Bryce who stood at the edges of the room. "It may be that we have nothing to worry about. I have a certain assurance that things will be changing here soon enough."

Intrigued and mystified, Alistair was left without a moment to question her as she was swept into a conversation with Eleanor. He waited on the edge of the dancing space waiting for Roselyn as Cailan escorted her over.

"You wife dances very well, little brother," Cailan remarked handing her over with a gracious bow. He pressed a kiss to the back of Roselyn's hand before she could retract it. "Maybe she'll furnish me with another?"

"Perhaps, Your Highness," Roselyn replied with icy stillness to her voice and rubbing the back of her hand where Cailan had kissed as if her skin was burning. Alistair took her hands to still them, glaring at Cailan behind his mask.

"Cailan, remember?" he laughed, "We are family now, after all."

Roselyn's grimaced. "Oh, look! My mother wants to speak to us." She squeezed Alistair's hand hard. "Excuse us, _Your_ _Highness_."

Alistair followed her as she marched through the buzz of people and conversation fighting to keep up with her hurried strides.

"Stop, Rose," Alistair grasped her fingers trying to slow her. "Stop." He said again and her determination to get to her parents relinquished enough that he could lead her to the very edge of the room, hidden away behind a pillar from prying eyes. "What happened?" he asked her, easing her bright turquoise and teal mask up onto the top of her head.

Behind the mask her cheeks were flushed dark scarlet, Alistair could only assume it was in anger given how tightly wound she now appeared.

"He's horrible!" Roselyn told him in a harsh whisper. Her voice cracked and Alistair watched her press the heels of her hands underneath her eyes. Her chest rose and fell on on sharp, panicked breaths. "Vile!"

"Take a breath," Alistair almost pleaded. He took a long breath as he held her shaking shoulders and exhaled slowly in the hopes Roselyn would follow his pattern. "Slowly, slowly..." He pushed his own mask off and dropped it onto a nearby table. Roselyn began to follow his steadying inhalations. "That's it, slow..."

He slipped her mask off her head putting it to one side with his and pressed his lips to her forehead. He stroked her arms and shoulders the rich fabric of her dress smooth under his fingers, but not as smooth as her perfect skin when he skimmed his hands over her bare shoulders.

"He kept... _touching_ me, not in the way he should have for the dance," Roselyn started to explain, speaking quick with a simmering anger. "His hands kept straying too low. And the things he was saying!"

"What did he say?" Alistair met her gaze, trying to stay cool and collected. Trying to fight the overwhelming urge he had to take her to the safety of their chambers and return only to give Cailan another bloody nose.

"He invited me back to his rooms again," Roselyn told him, her gaze dropping; her voice lowered too as if she was afraid of being heard. "He said if I kept refusing he'd come to me, and..." She grimaced, " _have_ me right while you slept next to me. That I would have no choice but to enjoy it."

Alistair's nostrils flared when he inhaled deep to try and settle the swirling tempest of rage building in his chest. It felt as though someone was punching through him over and over, the way his stomach turned and knotted with a mixture of disgust and upset. Cailan was his brother. The brother he had looked up to most of his life. If his behaviour over the last few months was a true reflection of him then Alistair did not wish to call him that. He did not deserve such a beloved title. He did not deserve anything given to him.

"I won't let him near you again," Alistair told Roselyn, a harsh tension in his voice. Hands slipped up over her arms, over her shoulders and paused to gently curve around and hold behind her neck. He could feel her pulse racing against his thumb and pressed a kiss between her brows.  "I promise. I'm sorry you had to dance with him. That he spoke to you like that. It's inexcusable. I never expected him to grab you..."

"It's not your fault," Roselyn slid her hand over his and laced her fingers between his. "I'm not much in the mood for dancing now, though."

"Neither am I," Alistair gave a heavy sigh. "We'll stay three more dances and make an excuse to leave." He nudged her temple with his nose. "Alright?"

"Yes," Roselyn agreed. Pressing a soft kiss to her mouth he retrieved both their masks from the nearby table and handed Roselyn's to her. She slipped it onto her head and plastered what she called a 'courtier' smile on her face which looked more like a wince. Alistair clasped her hand in his, kissed her knuckles and led her back into the fray of moving bodies and murmuring conversation.

Nearby, Eleanor, Bryce, and Anora stood with Maric - dressed in darker browns and reds than either Alistair or Cailan but still a lion like them. Cailan was nowhere to be seen and Alistair reasoned that was a safe location for him and Roselyn to linger until they were able to leave.

They eased into the group without breaking conversation. Roselyn hugged close to his side and he could feel her shaking under her dress. He wished there was more he could do now, but any effort to calm her would have to wait until they were back in private. Maybe she would let him help her out of her dress and he could explore every inch of her skin with his fingers and his lips, working out the tensions in her body. Perhaps, rather than spending an evening surrounded by sycophants they could spend it entwined and tangled up in each other, blissfully naked and mapping each other's bodies until they knew one another's intimately.

The thought of that made him flush and he averted his gaze away from her at his side to the floor. He cursed himself for thinking in so base a fashion. What they shared that morning was enough. It was a taste of things to come for the pair of them, things they would experience and learn together over time when they were both happy and comfortable. To think of Roselyn allowing him to help her undress, it was a stupid thought and beneath him. He was not Cailan. She was not _just_ a woman to him, a port in which to harbour. She was his wife and he never wished her to feel about him the way she felt about Cailan.

Maric's booming laughter jerked him from his thoughts and Alistair blinked himself back into the room and into the conversation. He laughed weakly trying to catch onto what was so amusing that his father, Bryce and Eleanor were all red cheeked with laughter and even Anora and Roselyn were chuckling a little.

"Are you all prepared for your journey tomorrow?" Anora asked Eleanor once the laughter died down.

"Oh, yes. Everything packed."

"It will be strange to go back to Highever after being here so long." Bryce mentioned with a slow smile. "Almost feels like a second home."

"Well, you know you and yours are always welcome," Maric assured him with a firm slap on the shoulder which Alistair saw made Bryce bite back a wince.

"I doubt we'll be away _too_ long," Eleanor added with a sing-song flourish to her voice.

Roselyn quirked a brow at her mother. "Why is that?"

"I wouldn't let my daughter go through her first pregnancy alone!" Eleanor told her, placing her palm over Roselyn's belly. Alistair felt her go tense beside him. "Rumour is there may be small feet filling the palace halls as soon as Wintersend!"

"Mother!" Roselyn recoiled, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. "Please!"

"That's a good thing, sweetling."

Roselyn pushed her fingers across her temple, "Mother, don't."

"I expected nothing less," Maric added, crossing his arms and levelling Alistair with a hard stare which made his insides turn to stone. The way his father looked at him is was if he could read they had yet to fully consummate their marriage. "Theirin men are hot blooded, after all."

"Maker's breath..." groaned Alistair. "Do we have to discuss this here? Now?"

"Nothing to be bashful about, boy," laughed Maric. "We're all experienced adults here."

"Fergus was born barely a year into our marriage," Eleanor interjected.

"This isn't happening," Roselyn muttered, massaging her forehead. "This is a dream. I'll wake up in bed in a minute and this day won't have happened."

"Let Roselyn be, Eleanor," Bryce ordered with quiet severity. "She and Alistair will go at their own pace. No one is in any rush."

"Speak for you self. I'd like another grandchild."

"At least you have two already!" Maric guffawed. "I'm still waiting." Alistair chanced then to glance at Anora and saw her listening with a quiet, quaint smile as she turned her wedding band around her finger.

As their conversation drew on, comparing their children and their hopes for grandchildren, Alistair relaxed a little. One dance was over, two more then he would make and excuse for he and Roselyn to leave. He wanted to be alone with her -  her company was vastly preferable to that of those around him.

He stroked Roselyn's waist, feeling her still ridgid beside him from her mother's bold statement, and pressed a kiss to the hollow behind her ear. "We'll go soon," He whispered to her, smiling at the quiver he felt ripple over her body from his closeness.

"Are you sure your father will let us go?" Roselyn replied keeping her attention ahead, not turning or glancing at him.

Alistair nodded. "There's not really much reason for us to be here. This isn't for us, no matter what performance he's trying to put on. We've made an appearance. Besides, as far as my father is concerned there are better things we could be doing with our time."

"Ah," Roselyn leaned back into his hand at the base of her back. "Far more... _physical_ things, I assume?"

"Yes," he chuckled through his nose and clutched at a tiny flame of courage which burned in his chest. "Not unlike what happened this morning." His ears grew warm at the boldness of his words. He heard Roselyn's breathing hitch and a short silence grew. He wondered if perhaps he had over stepped a mark or was too forward, making too many assumptions of their relationship. Then Roselyn turned her head and pressed her lips to his jaw.

"Well, who's to say there won't be a reprise when we leave?" she murmured smiling coquettishly up at him. Blush exploded across Alistair's cheeks and stung his ears; he glanced around hoping no one noticed the sudden flood of colour to his face and squeezed a finger between his collar and his neck so he could swallow.

He searched for something to say, some witty retort which would make Roselyn blush or stop her in her tracks, but he was distracted. Not just by what she said, which was enough to get his mind racing, but by the way she pressed kisses to his neck and jaw in such a secretive and careful way that to the casual onlooker it would appear she was just nuzzling him. Clenching his fingers at the curve of her waist, Alistair gulped thickly and his eyes struggled to stay open under the pleasurable caress of her soft lips.

"Ro--" He bit the inside of his cheek at the way she moved, pressing her backside against his pelvis. in a careless fashion. "Rose?"

"Mhm?" The look she gave him was deceptive in its innocence, unable to conceal the glint of playful mischief in her eyes and the smirk which tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, husband? Something wrong?"

Grinning, Alistair turned her towards him so they were flush together and slid his hands across her back, allowing them to linger almost inappropriately low on her body. "I don't know if I can wait another two dances," he told her, nipping the lobe of her ear when he spoke with his head drooped and his mouth so close. "Can you?" The subtle shake of her head was all he needed. "Wait here." He instructed, pressing a kiss to her jaw bone and releasing her to go and tell Maric their intention to leave.

He saw Maric was off towards the back of the hall, speaking with one of the ambassadors and another foreign visitor from Starkhaven; one of the Vael Princes so Alistair was told - not that he had spent much time with him. He approached, weaving through people almost tripping over his feet in his urgency to reach his father and get away with Roselyn. His heart in his chest was thumping at an accelerated rate at the thought of being alone and the possibility of repeating what they had experienced in the morning. At the time he thought his actions too bold, too much like Cailan - asking for something Roselyn was not ready to give, pushing their young relationship too fast. He was surprised when Roselyn was receptive. And now he had experienced something beyond her intoxicating kisses, he was eager to feel and learn more.

Now that he knew some of the noises she made, he wanted to discover how to make those in other ways: with his hands, with his mouth, with the faintest of touches. He wanted to learn where she liked to be touched and where she _loved_ to be touched. What made her laugh, what made her moan and gasp, what made her growl his name or made her skin burn. He wanted to explore, and he wanted her to explore. He was eager and rambunctious and would have found an evening locked together in their rooms preferable to the evening they had been subjected to thus far.

Stopping short of his father, conjuring an excuse to make for them to be able to leave  - Roselyn feeling faint - Alistair held his tongue as a sudden glimmer of silver caught his gaze. He paused, his hand up about to get his father's attention and whipped his head around for the shimmer once more. Except for guards, weapons were prohibited inside the palace and especially at events like this one, where everyone was in finery and the glint Alistair had seen definitely came from a weapon, not jewellery or the fabric of a dress or the way light refracted through a precious stone. It was a knife, something small like a stiletto or a dirk. The room suddenly felt more crowded, like space was being taken up by people who had appeared out of nowhere like shadows, dark and silent.

"Alistair?" Maric turned to him, his brows drawn together. "Something the matter, boy?"

Glancing around, Alistair turned his back on his father and searched through the swirl of gowns for another glimmer, another sign he wasn't going mad. He didn't want to say something to Maric and be wrong; causing an unnecessary panic would be a disaster and something his father would never forgive him for.

Something groaned above them, a terrible, metallic sound which made Alistair jerk his head upwards to see. Above them where three iron chandeliers. One was swaying, the rope which held it aloft was shaking as if being cut and the groaning sound was coming from the metal winches and pullies which kept it up.

Knowing what was about to happen and powerless to stop it, Alistair shouted before he thought. **_"Move! Get out of the way!"_** He charged into the people dancing and standing, his heart in his throat. The snap of the rope was like a whip cracking, people dived out of the way, Alistair grabbed an older man and woman pushing them to safety and threw himself out of the way as the chandelier hit the floor with an almighty **_clang_** cracking the stone work and under its weight. The doors to the main hall slammed closed, deafening the murmur of surprised, nervous laughter and speech which had started.

Getting to his feet, Alistair dusted himself off and looked around to see if anyone was hurt. Maric was at his side, helping him up and Cailan joined them a moment later them both looking stricken and confused.

"Where's the King?" A voice crowed from the far end of the hall. Eyes turned that way and Alistair watched a few figures climbing up onto the top table, kicking food, plates, and goblets to the floor where they clattered. "Where are the Princes?"

He knew the voice and the face even though he had only seen and heard her once before. The anger and the conviction was unmistakeable. Wading through the people flanked by Maric and Cailan, Alistair fixed his eyes on Shianni, who had a bow in her hand and the arrow nocked, poised to fire. With her were other city elves, all of them clad in dark colours with plain masks pinned to their heads. They would have been allowed entry because they were dressed the same as the elven servants, their masks almost perfect replicas. They would have got in without anyone giving them a second look. Their weapons were likely placed in the hall before the feasting began.

"I'm here," Maric announced himself dropping his mask to the floor and stepping ahead of Alistair and Cailan in an almost protective manner. Alistair glanced around the room, he spotted Roselyn with her parents and Anora, wide eyed and frightened, but unhurt. He caught her eye and offered a small smile in an attempt to put her at ease.

"Do you remember me?" asked Shianni, her voice steady and filled with quiet rage. She drew her bowstring back, the arrow pointing down at Maric. "Do you remember the Alienage? The promises you made?"

"I remember you, Shianni," Maric nodded taking another step towards her, his hands raised to his head in a placating manner, meant to show he was defenceless. "I remember the Alienage. I remember my promises. I am fulfilling them now. Materials are on the way to help wit--"

"Not good enough!" snapped Shianni. "We were told we would receive aid within the month. It's been three since then! You and yours are here feasting and celebrating, spoiling yourselves while my people are dying in the streets of disease, unable to eat or rest or work because of their poor conditions. Conditions _you_ promised you would improve!"

"Put the bow down, girl," Maric lowered his voice to a grave demand. "You don't want to kill me, or anyone here. What good will that do you?"

"It would make me feel better."

"I bet it would," Maric gave a soft snort. "I can't fault you for that. There are plenty here I would like to harm, just to make me feel better." Alistair saw a look of confusion flicker across Shianni's face. She glanced at those with her, who were as shocked and puzzled by Maric's disarming words as she was. "But it would do more harm than good."

"Stop moving!" snarled Shianni.

Maric stopped in one place. The other guests had all crowded towards the edge of the room to avoid being shot with arrows if one of the elves decided to do so. Alistair took stock of the situation. Elves were standing in the gallery too - he tried to count them but some were in darkness, others not. It was hard to get a definite number, but there were more than twenty. If thing got out of control between Shianni and Maric there would be people dead on the ground before the elves could be fully engaged by the palace guards.

"I won't move," Maric dropped his hands and lifted his chin, showing the pride and strength his people followed and loved him for. He was the Warrior King, the King who ended the Orlesian occupation. He was not one to back down or be challenged easily by a group of city elves. "We are talking."

"Fath--"

"Cailan," Maric growled, silencing his older son in an instant. "Hold your tongue. Shianni and I are talking."

"Was he supposed to be overseeing the repairs?" Shianni asked, casting a distasteful glance at Cailan.

"No. It was me." Maric was honest in his words. He relieved Cailan of the responsibility after they were almost mobbed in the Alienage. "I sent word to some stonemasons and carpenters further afield. Better than what we have in Denerim. Supplies were arranged to be sent, but I admit I have not been diligent in following their whereabouts and delivery."

"No," scoffed Shianni. "You've been drinking, and feasting and revelling. Celebrating your fat selves and what good people you are, when mine are dying in the streets!" Alistair saw how her chin trembled, fierce eyes welling up with tears she struggled not to let spill. He watched how she swallowed hard on her grief and sorrow. She had lost someone.

"I was not told." Maric replied. "Valendrian--"

"Valendrian is dead!" cried Shianni. "Valendrian, my cousin. Dozens of us. All dead." She choked on a sob. Alistair caught a glimpse of Roselyn, her worry and fear replaced by sympathy. He worried for a moment that she might try to step in, but she was kept at bay by Anora who would keep her safe and in check. " _Your_ people killed by disease which could have been stopped had your fucking son done what he was supposed to in the first place!" She drew the string of her bow back, changing her target from Maric to Cailan. "What good is he to his country? He doesn't care for anything or anyone but himself! Everyone knows it!"

"Shi--"

"You don't want to kill anyone," Alistair interrupted, stepping in front of Cailan without a second thought. He pulled his masked off and a cool bead of sweat trickled down his spine, chilling him to the bone. He felt his fear, clutching and clawing at him, threatening to overtake his mind and his words. He fought against the tremble in his voice when he spoke, tried to hide how his hands shook. It was one thing to learn to fight and enter tourneys where the aim was never to kill or maim or even harm, it was quite another to look down the shaft of an arrow into the bloodshot, sunken eyes of an aggrieved elf, caught between desperation and despair. "You and yours have come this far without spilling a single drop of blood. You can still walk away from this."

"No..." Shianni shook her head, "I can't." Her bow arm shook under the strain it was taking her to keep it steady. Her cheeks were wet from tears and Alistair noticed how she bit at her lips. "Breaking into the palace, threatening you, the King... it's treason. I've condemned me and my kin to death for this. But I had to." She choked on the quaver which made her words shake. "I had to do something to make us heard."

"My Lady," Alistair approached her and dropped to one knee, lowering his head making himself humble before her. "Please, understand. You've been heard. You _can_ come back from this action if you disarm yourselves and no one is harmed. If things can end peacefully none of you will be punished for this." He looked at Maric, hoping his expression was steel to those watching but that he was able to convey to his father his plea.

"Yes..." Maric agreed after a lengthy silence. "No harm will come to any of you." He turned his attention to Shianni. "Had I known of Valendrian's passing I would have done something. He was a friend. I will mourn him and all those who have perished through avoidable circumstances."

Shianni began to lower her bow, her hands trembling. Her eyes flicked to her companions up on the high table and up in the gallery. She gave a subtle nod of her head and Alistair watched those with her begin to lower their weapons, to relax their bowstrings and shift into less aggressive stances.

"Will you listen to our demands?" she asked after catching her breath and composing herself.

"Yes. All of them," Maric strode towards the dais. "I will find out where the supplies for rebuilding the Alienage are. What has gone awry. I will do whatever is within my power to begin to make amends for the slights and losses you and yours have suffered." He extended a hand to Shianni, a gesture of peace.

For a few seconds Alistair saw her gaze on Maric flick between his outstretched hand and his face. He knew she was searching for a sign of deception, of being lied to and fooled again. She was not as trusting as Valendrian. The Alienage had beaten any ability to trust out of her.

"Please," Maric said.

During tense seconds, Shianni lowered her bow and gingerly took Maric's hand after hesitating for several moments. In those moments Alistair worried his father would grasp her hand and be forceful, and was surprised by how patient he was... that he waited for Shianni to willingly take his hand when she was ready and not before.

He helped her down from the table and from the dais, the uncomfortable silence of the guests and courtiers broken only by the brush of Maric's boots over the floor and the patter of the bare feet of the elves as they either disappeared from the gallery above, or followed Shianni and Maric. Two elves unbarred the large door allowing entry to a handful of armoured guards who stopped seeing the King with Shianni and the situation resolved.

Maric turned to the people waiting with bated breath to know what was going to happen now the King was leaving with an elf. "I will be speaking with Shianni in private. No one is to disturb us," he said, his voice resonating around throughout the hall. "Guards, please remove the chandelier so dancing may continue. While I am gone, Alistair is in charge." Alistair's eyes bugged and he caught his father's gaze. Soft, almost approving in the way he looked. Alistair glanced at Cailan who appeared to be almost in pain. Maric gave a slow nod of his head to Alistair, a ghost of a smile curving his mouth. "If you have things to say or questions you wish to have put to me, speak to him. In my absence he is my word and voice."

Without another word Maric led Shianni and the elves out in a quick succession. Noise began to rise, alarm and nervous laughter, gossip and chatter drowning out the attempts the musicians made to resume playing.

Alistair found himself surrounded all of a sudden, people crowing for his attention, shouting his name, jostling and pulling him this way and that. The world fell silent for him when he caught Roselyn's eyes across the room. She was with Anora still, her skin pale but a relieved smile curving her pretty mouth nonetheless. His lips quirked, a silent apology that they would not be disappearing as he hoped they would. Before he could garner a response she was obscured by Eleanor, who was flapping and flailing like a panicked goose.

Someone grabbed his sleeve, and through the throngs of people now desperate for his attention, Teagan nudged them aside to act as stalwart support in this new, sudden role his father had bestowed upon him. Ruffling a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmed but buzzing with adrenaline and almost a little winded, Alistair gave a sharp exhalation and threw himself into the braying voices.

 

* * *

I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to chapter 8! Things are starting to heat up - and not just between Alistair and Roselyn!  
That's it for 2015, chapter 9 will be up in 2016.   
Please let me know what you think!   
I hope everyone has a safe and happy christmas, and a wonderful new year!  
And see you in 2016!

 


	12. Chapter 9: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While wandering around Denerim with Anora, they stumble upon an impending riot taking place outside the Alienage. With recent events in mind, Roselyn takes on Maric head-to-head making known how she disapproves of his treatment towards the elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first half of chapter nine! I hope everyone had a restful and fun holiday season and new year! Let's see what's in store for 2016, shall we? :)
> 
> \- Credit, as always, to my beta reader, razerthane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) who are always ready with their comments and telling me when I'm being harsh on myself. 
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Teen

 

* * *

_Three weeks later.  
Month: Late Solace_

_\--_

One freedom Roselyn was afforded in Highever which she was not in Denerim was the freedom to explore the city unaccompanied. In the palace she could only venture to the locations considered ideal for a princess. She was not allowed down in the servants quarters or the kitchens and she was flanked everywhere she went by ladies-in-waiting unless she was with Alistair or Anora. If she wished to go into Denerim for whatever reason, she was to be accompanied by a fully armoured guard.

It was different and unfamiliar to be kept so close and deemed so precious. She knew, of course, that she was a commodity. Maric and the court believed she potentially carried the first royal grandchild, or would soon enough. She was something Maric could not risk being damaged or stolen away - not that Roselyn thought the people of Denerim _would_ attempt that by any means. While she saw little of them, they appeared to be as much like the people of Highever; going about their daily business and too preoccupied by their own lives to have any concern to the goings-on of their ruling monarch and his family.

Leaving the palace and exploring the new city was something Roselyn was desperate to do. Life had returned to normal at the palace and daily council meetings, lessons, and petitions took Alistair from her side for most of the day. Roselyn often found herself alone and had to find someway to amuse herself. Alistair pulled himself away from his duties as Prince when he could, but his breaks were short and never planned. When he found her - _if_ he found her - their intervals were brief before he was off to the next meeting or lesson.

Aside from a daily ride she took with Alistair if he could spare the time, with Anora, or just with guards and her ladies-in-waiting, she spent all her time in the palace. She felt cooped up and caged. She explored the gardens as much as possible while the weather was good with Roo, she knew her way through the palace now and did not get turned around. In Highever she was given responsibilities, opportunities to help her father with business and resolve disagreements. Here she was expected to languish away, a woman of leisure until she was pregnant and then her freedoms would be restricted even more.

She broached the subject once with Alistair, suggesting she could sit in on the council meetings. He agreed this was a good idea but would be unlikely to happen. Maric kept the council very closed and restricted to the closest men in his company. When she explained Anora once told her Queen Rowan used to sit in on the meetings, he went very quiet and the discussion was nipped in the bud by uncomfortable tension.

Roselyn put much of the restlessness down to her parents leaving. They were gone, returned to Highever and with them any protection their presence may have afforded her. She was a lone Cousland in a den of Theirins, a court of fanged smiles and phrases with double meanings. She would now have to walk more carefully than she had been before. If she said something or put a foot wrong, if she angered Maric and turned his ire on her, her parents would no longer be there to step in. Of course, she was grateful she was not totally alone. Alistair was on her side and she had Anora too, who would both stand up for her if need be.

To avoid any situation where she might induce Maric's unpredictable anger, Roselyn chose to keep her head down. She kept quiet and answered any questions he asked her as vaguely and politely as possible. She asked nothing of him and chose not to quarrel if he said something she disagreed with. She did not enjoy holding back her true thoughts for fear of the King, but her fear of him was greater now that she was alone in his domain. Until she learned the rules of the game better, she knew the safest and easiest option was to hold her tongue and appear meek and submissive.

She was lucky Anora knew her way around Maric. She knew when to ask him for something and what kind of mood he was in or would be in, even before Maric knew it himself. Her shrewd, perceptive eye caught everything and it was for that reason Roselyn was allowed into the city with Anora for an afternoon. Guards were to accompany them of course, but there was no announcement given, no fanfare, no troupe led out before them to clear the way. They left the palace on horseback with their guard, dismounting outside the main gates of the city so they could walk around on foot. They blended in as much as possible with the people going about their day.

Denerim was a bigger, busier place than Highever. There were more people and they were always moving, bustling and shouting over each other to he heard. There weren't just humans either. There were surface dwarves selling their wares from Orzammar and elven servants bargained with merchants on behalf of their employers. The city itself was built big and tall, as if the builders were in competition with each other when it came to the structures. Signs hung from door lintels denoting what shop was what. Black smoke billowed out of the chimney of the local blacksmith and armourer. Children ran and shouted, chasing a dogs around the streets, crowing and braying back and forth as they played. Over all the noise was the regular toll of the Chantry bells at every quarter past the hour; a low rumbling chime which somehow brought the din together.

Together, flanked by the guards, Roselyn and Anora visited various merchant stalls in the market place, picking out fabrics for dresses and sampling different foods they were offered. The people stopped and bowed or curtsied to them as they walked past, stopping their own business to be polite and show respect. Roselyn watched Anora in her element. She spoke to various men and women who stopped to greet them. She asked about their businesses, their lives, and if they were happy. Her questions were genuine, asked out of sincere interest and concern, but they were the questions a ruler would ask to gauge the happiness of their people.

Those she spoke to responded in kind. They respected Anora enough to be honest and explained their grievances and difficulties. Anora listened with an attentive and sympathetic ear and had one of the guards write down each complaint and issue raised, promising to take them to Maric when she had the chance. People expressed their gratitude, showering blessings of the Maker upon Anora before letting her carry on her way.

"They love you," Roselyn remarked, looping her arm through Anora's as they walked through the market place. "You can hear it when they talk to you."

"They know I'm Loghain's daughter," Anora replied, smiling. "They understand my father came from humble roots and that he knows the difficulties of life as much as they do. I understand them, too. He never spoiled me."

"Your father doesn't come to court much, does he?"

"Hardly ever," Anora swept a straying tendril of blonde hair back behind her ear. "He despises the politics of it all. How people fall and fawn over the King and do his bidding and agree to his every whim. The reason my father and Maric are friends is because he never kowtowed to Maric's attitude. If Maric wants an honest opinion, he can get it from my father and no one else. My father isn't afraid of him as so many others are."

"Honestly, it sounds like the court could do with him being there," Roselyn snorted softly. She enjoyed being out of the palace with Anora. The guards kept at a safe enough distance that they could talk more freely and the threat of being over heard was not as great. "I think Maric has grown lazy and complacent with people telling him how wonderful he is."

"I happen to agree with you," Anora agreed, mouth quirking wryly to one side. "I've written to my father several times suggesting he come to court for an extended visit. But he is happy in Gwaren and has expressed to me a certain... frustration with Maric extending a hand of civility to the Orlesians."

"He doesn't like Orlesians?"

"Not at all," laughed Anora, eyes crinkling at the corners. "He finds them abhorrent and their way of life, the _Grand Game_ as they call it, frivolous and underhanded. He would much prefer things settled outright. A duel, something with some honour to it."

"Just punch an Orlesian in the face and be done with it?" Roselyn suggested, grinning.

Anora nodded. "Exactly. No mess, no gossip. Just one swift whack," she mimicked, "and issues settled."

They continued through the streets, talking and stopping occasionally to peruse the wares of one merchant or another. Anora took the lead, guiding them down a side street past the local tavern towards a shop tucked away into the buildings, marked only by a small sign on the door denoting it was open.

"You'll like this place," Anora told Roselyn pushing the door open. "It's called 'The Wonders of Thedas'. It's like a treasure trove in here." She signalled for the guards to wait outside and closed the door behind the two of them.

The shop was like a place time did not touch. It smelled musty and old. Dust motes caught the meager light which sifted through small windows caked with dirt and grime. There were two floors: the ground floor was the largest and the second floor was accesible via steps near the cellar at the back of the shop. The walls were lined with bookshelves all stuffed to the brim, spines facing out wards and unmarked by finger prints or the brush of clothing. There were a few tables dotted around, piled up with knick-knacks: stone figures of Andraste, knights in battle stance, and men on horseback. Behind the counter at the far end was a lone man, balding and dressed in mage robes. It became clear to Roselyn that he was Tranquil when she approached him; the sunburst emblazoned on his forehead an unmistakable sign.

"Anora, what are we doing in here?" she asked in a low whisper, gripping to her arm.

"Don't be so worried, we're perfectly safe. I inquired about a remedy weeks ago, I just need to know if they have it in," she unlooped Roselyn's arm from hers.

“A remedy?” Roselyn repeated. “Are you sick?”

Anora offered a small cryptic smile as her response and waved Roselyn off. "Go and have a look around, there may be something here you find interesting."

As Anora approached the counter, she left Roselyn in the middle of the shop, inhaling the dusty old smells. Investigating a nearby, Roselyn wound a finger along the spines attempting to read the titles. Some were so old and worn they were impossible to make out. Several of the spines were loose, hanging on by threads left unread and ignored for years. Between bookshelves were mage staffs, all of them humming with quiet, sleepy magic where they had been abandoned.

She listened to Anora and the merchant talk in hushed voices as she wandered along the edges of the shop, going over different books and stopping once or twice to remove one and skim the pages, sending dust clouds up into the air. She eventually came across a book which stood out against the rest. The cover was a deep scarlet with the title and author printed on the spine, now faded. Vaguely, Roselyn could make out the name ’Capria’ but nothing else. Unlike the other books on the shelves, this one looked as though it was handled often and the pages were regularly examined. Pulling it from one of the top shelves, Roselyn opened at a random page glanced down and barely concealed a yelp of surprise as she slammed the covers closed again, dropping the book to the floor.

"Something wrong?" Anora called from the far end of the shop.

"Please do not drop the books," murmured the shop keep, looking across at Roselyn from a ledger open before him.

"Sorry," Roselyn squeaked, "I'm fine. It was a..." she glanced around grasping blind for an excuse, "a spider."

"Alright," Anora smiled. "Almost done."

Retrieving the book from the ground, Roselyn brushed away the dust and dirt which now clung to the cover and gingerly turned it over in her hands. Putting it back on the shelf was the sensible thing to do if what she glimpsed on the open page was what the book contained. Yet her curiosity tugged and, almost wincing, she opened the book in her hands to a random page, flushing at the drawings.

Across the top of each page was the title and the author's name. "The Art of Passionate Love" by Brother Capria, a book Roselyn never heard of. Yet she understood why: it was page after page of graphic drawings, men with women, men with men, women with women, and groups of people containing both genders. All compromised, all naked with explanations and diagrams pointing out what each position did, who sat where or who did what. Each drawing was almost a step-by-step and Roselyn found herself turning the pages, drawn into the images and explanations both her mind and body growing hotter from what she saw.

She and Alistair had not moved on from their... whatever it was. Roselyn dubbed it clothed rutting. It was an almost daily occurrence, something which either happened in the morning as they were waking up and before Alistair disappeared for the day, or in the evening before either of them fell asleep. While it was still enjoyable, pleasurable, and something Roselyn was growing bolder at instigating there was more she wanted to do but was not certain how to approach.

Alistair took things at her speed and that was fine to begin with when they were both shy and were getting to know each other. Now it was different. They were now married for almost two months and while Roselyn still wasn't certain she was ready for sex, she still _craved_ more. She craved him. His kisses, his fingers digging into her thighs and her backside. She desired him more than she thought possible and often found her mind wandering when left to her own devices. She would hear Alistair's groans and ragged breathing in her mind, feel the sensation of his skin, his calloused fingers clinging to her hips and  she would find herself short of breath, blushing and in desperate need of him. A need which was going ignored given how his normal duties took him away from her during the day.

Skimming the pages, her interest and thirst growing, she tried to memorise different gestures, different positions, and different _things_ she could do which Alistair might enjoy. She nibbled her bottom lip, brushing her thighs against each other under her gown in an attempt to dull the ache which pooled at her core and between her legs.

"Good book?" Anora inquired, chuckling.

Roselyn slammed the page shut and shoved it onto the shelf. "NO!" She shouted, not meeting Anora's face, knowing she would be grinning. "Are you done?! Let's go!" She marched towards the door, head down, hands in small fists pretending not to hear Anora's failed attempts to muffle her laughter.

The cool air outside was welcome against Roselyn's burning cheeks and neck. One of the guards looked at her flushed face as she walked past them and she ducked her head lower, willing the warmth to go away. Anora joined her, sliding one arm around her waist.

"There's a copy of that in the palace," she murmured into Roselyn's ear, glee alighting her tone.

"Maker’s breath..." groaned Roselyn mimicking Alistair’s familiar curse and pushing her face into her hands as they walked.

"In the library. You should ask Ephraim for it, if you're looking for some ... inspiration? Some of the pages are stuck together though so you'll need to be careful if you read it." Anora's laugh was more like a girlish giggle and it caught Roselyn off-guard, causing her to lift her head and stare at the older woman. "Look at you," Anora pressed the back of a cool, pale hand to Roselyn's face. "You look like you've been sitting close to a fire."

"You won't say anything will you?" Roselyn mumbled, eyes briefly glancing to Anora's only able to hold her gaze for a second or two before shame forced her to look away. "To Alistair. Or anyone."

"Of course not," Anora smiled. "Are you and Alistair are getting bored already?"

Roselyn laced her fingers together, winding them around each other. "Not... bored. I don't think." She sighed, watching the cobbles disappear under her dress as she walked. "How can you tell if a man is getting bored?"

"He'll take a mistress," Anora remarked bluntly.

"Oh."

"He hasn't, has he?"

"No," Roselyn shrugged, "I don't think so. It's ... just we haven't..."

"Still?" Anora's blue eyes widened a little. "Is there something wrong? You don't like each other?"

"It's not that!" Roselyn whined. "I do like him! I like him very much. He likes me. I like the things we do together," she explained, frowning and fighting to keep her voice soft so she wouldn't be overheard. "I'm just not sure how to move things forward. Every time I want to, I lose my nerve and I'm worried because Alistair insists at going at a pace I'm comfortable with, we're never going to get beyond... the things we do already."

"You're thinking about it too much," Anora said with a tone of confident experience.

"What am I suppose to do then?"

"Think less," Anora tapped Roselyn's forehead with her finger. "Feel more." A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Communicate. You and Alistair are good at that, I've seen the way you talk to each other. You're sincere. Use that honesty and explain you're ready to move forward with things. He won't know unless you tell him. The Maker did not furnish men with the ability to read minds, after all."

"A terrible oversight by the Maker," Roselyn chuckled with mock exasperation, tucking her hair behind her ear. She worried at her bottom lip for a few seconds. "You really think just talking to him is the best thing?"

"Yes," nodded Anora, "It may seem a little awkward but it will be worth it."

Roselyn managed a small grateful smile and fell into step with Anora. She was grateful she had Anora to speak to. She was a voice of experience and wisdom in all things, and Roselyn looked up to her in a way she had not expected to. She gave sound advice, not just when it came to matters of navigating Maric's court. She helped her understand and rationalize things, helped her realise when she was making a fuss over nothing. And while moving her and Alistair's physical relationship forward was not a _small_ thing, it was not as big an issue as Roselyn's mind was making it out to be. 

They wandered the market square a while longer, checking on merchant stalls which were busy when they first arrived. The guards accompanying them were growing restless, bored of following them around rather than being on their regular duties, so Anora announced their intention to return to the palace and they made a leisurely pace towards the main gates.

There was a braying and cacophony of voices initially lost in the din of the noise of the capital and the market square, but the closer to the main gates they got the louder the cries of outrage became. Soon enough they were drowning out the noise of the merchants selling their wares and the bells of the Chantry when they chimed. It came from the Alienage. A great crowd of people, human and elves, all congregated around the wrought iron gate which divided the Alienage from the main square. As far as Roselyn knew, only two guards were ever stationed outside the Alienage at any one time - a quick count revealed there to be eight of them. Possibly more who were hidden by the throngs of people.

"What's going on?" Roselyn asked, stopping in her tracks and staring at the congregation of simmering anger. Anora and the guards stopped with her. "Are the gates to the Alienage supposed to be down?" She looked at Anora.

Anora shook her head, "I... don't know." Roselyn felt Anora's grip on her waist tighten, attempting to guide her away. Striding out of Anora's arm and pulling her hand away from Anora's when she tried to grasp it, Roselyn crossed the cobbles towards the crowd.

There were at least fifty people crowing and swearing at the guards, brandishing small daggers and make shift weapons. One or two people were bloody and had injured noses and cuts on their faces from weapons or being punched. The guards held the crowd back as best they could, crossing their pole arms in an effort to keep the mob at bay. Roselyn eased in between spaces and people trying to get closer to find out what was happening. When someone stepped on the train of her dress, she heard the fabric rip and grabbed up the skirt to make walking easier.

"Roselyn!" Anora called after her, though her voice was mostly drowned out by the yells. "Roselyn!"

Coming to the front of the crowd, Roselyn was able to see what the cause of the riot was. The gates of the Alienage were down and appeared to be locked tight. A sign was erected over the iron, declaring no person would be allowed in or out until further notice. Someone grabbed Roselyn's hand making her whirl, panic causing her heart to race. A wizened old elven woman had hold of her, using her as an anchor as the crowd swayed and rolled like wild waves. Supporting the woman with one arm around her shoulders, Roselyn shouted to try and get the attention of the one guard not fighting back the crowd.

She was pushed and pulled from each direction, jostled and bumped. The size of the crowd, the noise, and the movement of people made getting attention difficult and the additional weight of the old woman was not helping. Someone grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved her against the shafts of the pole arms. She grabbled for a grip, missed, and fell to the floor. The woman she clutched stumbled with her and a new roar of outrage arose from the crowd, some people pointed at the two of them on the ground, others screamed that the guards were responsible for pushing them.

One guard approached them and guided them out of the mayhem, between the guards to where there were no people. He sat the elven woman down, letting her catch her breath and assisted in helping Roselyn to her feet.

Dusting off her skirts, now torn and marked with grime and dirt, Roselyn tutted at herself, straightened herself out, and examined the scene from the other side. There was a barrage of angry and outraged faces, some with tears streaming from their eyes, and others with expressions contorted in outrage, screaming and cursing the guards.

"What's going on?" Roselyn asked the guard who helped her. He looked at her for a few seconds, then the glimmer of recognition flashed across his face and he dropped to one knee in front of her.

"Your Highness!" he all but yelped. "Your Highness, you shouldn't be-- Had I known--!"

"Get up," Roselyn barked, not meaning to be curt and unkind but aware it was the only way she would get answered. "Tell me what's going on!"

The guard remained on one knee as he spoke. "The Alienage has been quarantined, Your Highness. Disease is running rampant and there is fear of it spreading further into the city."

"And these people?" Roselyn indicated to the crowd.

"People who live there or have relatives, Your Highness," explained the guard. "They are not allowed beyond the gate in case of infection. Under any circumstances."

"What of their families?" Roselyn demanded, her own anger rising and making her chest contract with pain. "What of their homes? What of the King's promise to assist with the illness and repairs of the Alienage to Shianni?"

"I don't know anything about that, Your Highness," the guard looked up at her, "but the quarantine was authorised by King Maric. You would need to take your questions to him."

"Oh," Roselyn turned in a flourish, clenching her hands into fists and biting her jaw together so hard it made her teeth hurt. "I intend to." She growled to herself.

On the journey back to the palace Roselyn sat atop her horse, quiet anger bubbling away inside her. It appeared Maric’s gesture and kindness towards Shianni in her desperation at the masquerade was as much a farce as the celebration itself. He had no intention of helping. His answer was to shut away the people most in need of his help and pretend they were not there. Wait until diseases and starvation had claimed as many as possible and then, maybe, address the situation. To Roselyn it went beyond barbaric. It was cold and calculated and cruel. Growing up in Highever, she watched her father deal with every complaint brought to him. Every dispute, every unhappiness was dealt with in the same way; it was a function and treatment Roselyn grew accustomed to seeing. Witnessing Maric’s dismissive attitude towards the city elves made her feel a fury she was not used to.

Anora followed behind her into the main hall while trying to reason with her, but her voice was muffled by the pounding in Roselyn’s ears. She did not stop to change - her torn and dirty dress was more of a statement to what she saw in the market place. People waiting to petition Maric bobbed and bowed as the two of them rushed through towards Maric’s council chamber where his it convened daily with Maric, Cailan and Alistair. Two guards, fully armoured and bearing pole arms barred the way, crossing their spears over the heavy oak doors.

“Let me through,” Roselyn bit out.

“No one is to disturb the King or his council while it is in session,” one guard told her.

“Roselyn...” Anora took her hand. Roselyn snatched it back.

“Let me through,” she demanded with a fierce stillness. She found herself unafraid of these two giants in full plate. Her adrenaline and anger pushed any fear or concern for propriety she might have felt so far down into her belly she could no longer feel it. “Or I will scream the palace down.” She watched the guards exchange uncertain looks, not sure whether she was bluffing or if they should take the threat of a scream seriously. For effect, Roselyn took a deep inhalation, enough for the guards to be alarmed. One grabbed the handle of the door closest to him and swung it open for her.

Maric’s council chamber was one room in the palace Roselyn was not shown on her tours. It was not considered a place a woman needed to go, even though Queen Rowan was a frequent guest while she was alive. It was a small room, sparsely furnished so focus remained on the issues brought to the table by Maric’s council. Three floor-to-ceiling windows allowed cold light in, dark navy drapes hanging on either side. The centre piece of the room was a large dark wood table which nearly stretched across the whole chamber. It was carved with decorative heads of lions and dragons, the dragon fire carved to make the legs. Around the table were chairs, fourteen either side with Maric at the head, Alistair to his right, Teagan behind him, and Cailan to his left. There were papers and letters littering the top of the table, ink pots and quills in the hands of several of the men, jotting things down.

At her intrusion, the eyes of every man in the room shot up to stare at Roselyn. Confusion filtered across many of the older faces, as well as irritation at her boldness and her audacity. Her bravado fled  under their scrutinising gazes. Her white hot anger turned to freezing fear, her stomach turning to rock and rooting her to the ground unable to flee. Her throat closed, all the things she planned to say disappearing from her mind like smoke rings, impossible to grasp. She glanced around the faces looking for any she knew.

Alistair’s was the first she spied, his expression more a mixture of puzzled and fearful. For her or for himself, she suddenly realised this stunt of hers would more likely get Alistair in trouble than herself. Cailan was in quiet shock, Teagan looked a little sick, and Maric was leaning back in his chair, watching her like a predator about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

“Princess?” Maric spoke with a disarmingly gentle tone. Several people shuffled in their seats, recognising the false kindness and security of Maric’s voice; the calm before the storm. “Is there something the matter?”

Her throat closed, cracked and dry; Roselyn clenched her eyes closed, she curled her hands into fists digging her nails into her palm trying to make herself speak, using the sharp pain to push her through her terrified stupor.

“Princess Roselyn?” Maric asked again, rising from his seat. She noticed it was larger than the others. High back, draped in furs, with snarling mabari heads carved into the arm rests. Roselyn felt like an injured deer being stared down by those mabari. Injured by a foolish move of her own making. “I assume you interrupted our council for a reason.” Maric continued, speaking so soft he was like a snake hissing in her ear. “Please, explain yourself.”

A hot flush crept up her neck, tingeing her cheeks and her forehead scarlet with shame. She felt a painful tingle behind her eyes and her nose. Maric was frightening to her. Cailan was frightening to her. She was alone in the palace, with only two people she could definitely call allies. Standing before Maric on his ground, she was out-matched and a fool for considering she could do anything.

“Are you perhaps lost?” Maric inquired, placing his hands down on the table to lean forward. “I understand how easily the female mind becomes addled. The palace is quite large.”

Closing her eyes and taking a long, settling breath Roselyn steeled herself. She squared her shoulders. Her fear of Maric was founded and after this she would not make the mistake of confronting him again – but the way the city elves were being treated went beyond unkind. They had already lost friends and family through Maric’s negligence; how much more would they have to suffer?

“Elves,” Roselyn said in a small voice, barely audible even to herself.

“What was that?” Maric cupped a hand around his ear dramatically. “You must learn to speak up. I thought you Highever women knew how to be heard.” Several men around the table chuckled. Roselyn’s lips slid into a dry smile.

“Elves, Your Majesty,” she said again, raising both her head and her voice. “Anora and I just came from the market square. The gate to the Alienage is down. The guards told me no one is allowed in or out. On your orders.” The more words she said the louder and more resonant her voice became. “Is that something you agreed with Shianni? You remember her, don't you? She pointed an arrow at you and then Cailan – rightfully accusing you of ignoring the city elves.”

She could almost hear the councilmen gritting their teeth and holding their breath. Eyes turned away from her, from Maric, to stare at the table. No one wanted to get caught in the cross fire. For several beats the tension of the room grew. Maric’s expression remained cool and unreadable, the only movement there was a small muscle twitching beside his mouth.

“There has been an outbreak of illness,” he explained. “I must care for my subjects.”

“Your _human_ subjects,” Roselyn retorted, lifting her chin in a challenge. Maric’s eyes widened a tiny bit and Roselyn saw his jaw clench. “It seems the city elves come rather low on your list of priorities. Tell me, how much coin has been going on your attempts to appease the Orlesians when it should have been going on the city elves.” She crossed her arms, “Did you even arrange for supplies to be delivered and workers to go? Or was that just a lie you conjured to avoid bloodshed?”

“You would have preferred a massacre?”

“I would have preferred you told her the truth. No aid was ever arranged for them. You wilfully ignore them and their needs.” Butterflies fluttered in Roselyn’s stomach and chest making her feel sick and giddy. Her body shook under her clothes, an involuntary action she tried to suppress by holding herself still and steady. She hoped her fear was not plain on her face; hoped she at least looked brave while not feeling it.

“What would you know of my mind?” Maric snarled. “You’re a woman. More than that, you’re young. You know nothing of me.”

“I know you cannot continue to treat the elves the way you do!” snapped Roselyn, slamming her hands down on the table. “You mistreat them, you ignore them until they make you pay attention, and then you placate them with honeyed words and empty promises. They are your people as much as the nobles of Denerim, and you let them suffer the cold and die in the streets from preventable illness. Is it any wonder Shianni and her kin threatened you?”

“Alistair,” Maric growled his sons name but did not look at him. “Remove your wife. Teach her to know her place.”

“Your Majasty," Alistair drew his fingers across his brow. "Roselyn makes a valid point. You sh--“

“Now.”

Alistair pushed his chair out, the feet scraping the ground making one or two people wince at the noise. Roselyn stared him and observed his face drawn into a frown with darkened eyes. He walked toward her with his head lowered and shoulders ridged. He grasped Roselyn’s hand standing at her side and looking down at her with an expression Roselyn could not read. She could feel the drumming of his heart beat in the palm of his hand. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles closing his eyes briefly before turning to face the table and Maric.

“Your Majesty, closing the gates to the Alienage will not going to win you any favours with your people, low or high born,” said Alistair boldly. There was a collectively gasp from those around the table. Alistair's fingers closed around Roselyn's. She reciprocated with a hold just as tight. “City elves may revolt and create riots in the streets. They will find ways to spread illness if just to make themselves heard. We have seen how easily they infiltrated the palace, and if they do so again there may not be a peaceful ending to the conflict.”

Maric stared at Alistair coldly, the muscle twitching beside his mouth starting to pulse faster. Roselyn took a step closer to the table bringing the attention back onto her. She took a breath to settle her stomach. “You have options open to you which could save this mess you have created and put you back in the good graces of the elves.”

“Why does this matter to you so much?” demanded Maric, his voice still and low. “What are the city elves to you? Kin? Are you the product of an illicit affair? What about them inflames your passions so much you would barge into a council meeting and dictate to me how to run my country and treat my people?”

Roselyn shook her head. “I am kin to no elf, Your Majesty.” She bobbed into a polite curtsey. “But I was taught and firmly believe the life blood and foundation of a country begins at the bottom. With the poor and the workers; those who are in need of the most kindness. Those who undertake the menial, thankless tasks and ask only their basic rights be respected. Without them, a city, much less a country, will fall to ruin in a year. Look around this table at these... _distinguished_ gentlemen and tell me honestly; would you treat any of them the way you have treated the city elves?”

A long, silent pause came upon the room as Maric examined the face of each person sitting at the table. They stared at him, like pups waiting for an order from their kennel master, all quiet and obedient, still holding their breath waiting for the outrage to come. After perhaps a minute or maybe an hour of stillness, Maric chuckled through his nose, his mouth curving up at one side.

“You make a fine argument, My Lady.” Maric bowed to her from the waist. “This meeting is almost at an end and I feel you have more within you to say which would be wasted on the ears of these ludites.” Nervous laughter rippled over those sitting. “You and I will speak more on this later.” Returning to his seat, Maric ruffled a hand through his hair, appearing for a moment a younger man. “Alistair, you and your wife may leave.”

When Alistair tugged her hand, Roselyn did not fight him guiding her out of the council chamber. She glimpsed Anora standing to one side, using the wall to keep herself steady as Alistair led her down the hallway, almost pulling her along behind him. She fought to keep up with his longer strides, breaking into a run at some points. His grip on her hand was almost crushing. She feared he was angry with her and struggled to concoct a suitable apology for her outburst and behaviour. She was, after all, supposed to be a demure, quiet wife. To grow big with child and express no interest in politics or things outside of her marriage and childbed – at least according to her mother. She broke all those rules in the last ten minutes and knew there would be consequences.

Reaching their room, Roo leapt up from the window seat as they entered and Alistair closed the main door behind them dismissing the guards. They were alone for a few seconds, Roselyn standing in the middle of the room with Alistair’s back to her, his head bowed, hands behind his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Roselyn blurted out after a minute of silence. “I know I shouldn’t ha—“ Alistair cut her off, lips crashing to hers, hands winding down her back to her waist as he pulled her against him. Shocked by his actions, Roselyn remained still in his embrace, tentatively returning his kiss and bracing her hands upon his shoulders. Alistair's mouth moulded over hers, hot and insistent, leaving her breathless and dazed when he broke away, grinning.

“Maker’s breath, I love you,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, beaming and giving Roselyn no time to react to his declaration as he picked her up off the ground. “You were magnificent!” He swung her around. Roselyn shrieked and wrapped her arms across his shoulders while Roo barked, leaping up at Alistair. “I have never seen anyone speak to him like that! It was beautiful!” Alistair plopped her on the floor to kiss her again. “Incredible! It will never be repeated! I am so glad I was there to witness that dressing down!”

“I... I don’t understand,” Roselyn remarked, confused. “You aren’t... angry?”

“Angry?!” Alistair laughed, “Why would I be angry?! You gave him the talking to he’s been in dire need of for years. And you did it without prompting and without sweetening your words!” He littered kisses across her forehead, her nose and cheeks which made Roselyn explode into nervous giggles. “It was amazing. I wish I could watch it all over again!”

“Why was it so remarkable?” she asked, still puzzled but unable to fight Alistair’s infectious grin. “Surely other people have told him similar things.”

“Not to my mind,” Alistair smirked and tapped the end of her nose. “And not so eloquently. You did the one thing no one is supposed to tell a King: you told him he can’t do something. That he can’t treat the elves the way he is. You stood up to him without any thought for yourself.” He cupped her face, pressing a long kiss to her mouth while grinning into it. “I am married to the most beautiful, amazing, and noble woman in all Thedas.”

“I just did what anyone with a scrap of decency would do...” Roselyn mumbled, blushing under her husband’s praise. “You spoke up too."

“And you’re modest about it,” chuckled Alistair, kissing her forehead. “You watch, he’ll come and speak to you about what you said. Maybe tomorrow or even tonight.”

“Oh...” Roselyn rubbed the back of her neck, unnerved at the idea. “You’ll be with me?”

“Of course,” he confirmed with a quick nod of his head. Suddenly he released her and disappeared into one of the other rooms, returning a few moments later with the copper bath. “Quick, bathe and change into something. We're going to celebrate.”

“In the palace?” Roselyn tilted a brow.

Alistair treated her to a devilish and mischievous grin, “ _Outside_ the palace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here concludes the first half of chapter nine! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, and the second half will be up soon! :3


	13. Chapter 9: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While enjoying their personal celebration and victory over Maric, Alistair and Roselyn discuss various things said earlier in the day. Later on Maric has a startling request for Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the concluding half to chapter 9! Hope you guys enjoy it! :D 
> 
> \- Massive credit to my gorgeous beta readers, razethane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) for being patient and so thorough.
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Mature [nsfw]

* * *

 

Alistair's familiarity with the palace and his friendly relationship with many of the servants meant he and Roselyn were able to leave without alerting anyone who would raise an alarm. After Roselyn was changed they left their chambers and retreated down the stairs the servants used to get around unseen. The head cook scolded them for causing a disturbance but let them leave through the kitchen doors. Once outside they snuck through the gardens like thieves, moving through the stables avoiding guards and grooms alike until they were beyond the gates and the walls of the palace were out of view.

It was early evening, still light and warm with a faint threat of rain. They ducked into a tavern, stealing seats towards the back and out of the way. A party was in full swing, filling the building with music and laughter. It was a wedding celebration judging by the bride and groom at the centre of it all.

Alistair left Roselyn to get drinks, ale, and a plate of cheese and biscuits for them to eat instead of the usual rich food they were served in the palace.   
  
Without the pomp and ceremony, without his fine clothes or anything to denote his station, Alistair blended in as one of the common folk. He noticed Roselyn stuck out a little more. She wore clothes similar to his: leather breeches, a sleeveless jerkin, and boots, but held herself in a way which was more stiff and steady than other people. She did not look down her nose at anyone by any means, but it was obvious this was not her usual environment.

The music was bouncy and full of life, not subdued and march-like as it was at their wedding. Alistair noticed her watching the dancing, how women were swung around and lifted into the air effortlessly. People sat while they clapped and stomped along to the music, singing along to the tune. Those standing held hands to circle around the people dancing or joined in, skipping along to the music in trains.

"A bit different to our wedding, hm?" Alistair mentioned coming, to sit at the table beside Roselyn. He placed a tarnished silver tankard in front of her and a round plate covered in different Ferelden cheeses.

"Just a little," she agreed, turning the handle of the tankard towards her. She gave the cheese plate a discerning look before lifting her grey eyes to him. "Did you buy all their cheese?"

"No," Alistair grinned, breaking off a small piece to feed to her. "There's plenty to go back for."

"You know, most women are dined with rich meats and creamy desserts," she sighed, perching her chin on her hand. "I get cheese and ale."

"Nothing wrong with cheese and ale," Alistair retorted lifting his tankard. Roselyn copied him and he knocked the rim of his against hers. "To you. For having more balls than most to tell the King off." He kissed her cheek before taking a long swallow from his drink. He watched Roselyn gulp down two mouthfuls before retreating from her mug, spluttering.

"Strong!" she coughed, wiping her mouth. Alistair chuckled and put his drink down, then noticed her eyes watering. "Ugh, what _is_ that?"

"Ale." Alistair shrugged looking at his. "You don't like it?"

"It's a bit - mhmm--" Roselyn coughed again, clearing her throat. "It's like fire going down my throat."

Laughing again, Alistair placed hand on her back and stroked until she was no longer sputtering and she could talk without a hoarse growl to her voice. He fetched some water from the barkeep for her and handed it to her in a tumbler, taking his seat again. Roselyn sipped it, her cheeks glowing.  
  
"I thought you'd be able to take ale from your home," teased Alistair, grinning at the slight eye roll Roselyn treated him to.

They fell into companionable silence, the two of them distracted by what was happening around them. Alistair watched the dancing wedding guests in their best clothes, cheering and shouting over each other. He watched the fiddler tap along to the tune he played, and how in the throngs of rapid movement and partners being changed over and over, yet the bride and groom were always able to find each other in the fray.

He noticed Roselyn watching them too, her eyes trained on the newly married pair. A soft smile appeared on her face, making it seem as though she was daydreaming. He edged closer to her, tucking straying ringlets behind her ear, fingertips brushing her cheek as he did so. She glanced at him, broken from her haze, then smiled and perched her head on her fist.

“What were you thinking about?” Alistair asked her, realising only after speaking how inane his question was. Even to his own ears he sounded foolish, and judging by the brief glimmer of amusement he saw on Roselyn’s face, she thought it was too.

“Is it really so odd I talked back to Maric?” she asked him.

“Mhm,” Alistair tilted his head to one side, humming thoughtfully. “Really, yes. From what Teagan told me, the only person to ever challenge Maric was Queen Rowan... And Teyrn Loghain. After she died and Loghain went back to Gwaren permanently, he stopped listening to anyone or condemned those who criticised him. Eventually his councillors and the court became too fearful to question his decisions.”

“So...” Roselyn pursed her lips, “why did he listen to me?”

Alistair shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I think you impressed him.” He smiled at her. “He was probably expecting you to be a quiet sort. To marry me, grow submissive, and never raise your voice.”

“He doesn’t know Highever women very well,” she chuckled. “Though... if I impressed him...” Alistair watched as she chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know if that’s a positive or a negative thing.”

“It’s positive,” Alistair assured her. “He may end up asking you into council meetings. Coming to you with ideas and suggestions. Asking for your opinion. Funny thing is, he likes to be challenged.” He laughed a little and took a gulp of his drink. “Sometimes I think his more outlandish ideas were done in the hopes someone might tell him ‘no’.”

“Seems childish.”

“He thrives on conflict,” Alistair explained. “I told you he was the King Ferelden needed during the Orlesian occupation. He’s a King born of war time. Peace is hard for him.”

“He should learn to adjust,” Roselyn remarked primly. “He’s had a peace in his Kingdom most other monarchs would be jealous of.”

“Yes,” Alistair sighed. “But peace does not breed accolades or make people remember you. People remember martyrs and war lords or Kings who lead their people to victory. Those who sit on their laurels and enjoy peace get fade into obscurity.”  
  
“He should think about what’s best for his people,” Roselyn snapped, “not his ego.”  
  
“I’m not arguing with you,” Alistair assured her, feeling a tension between them beginning to build. “I agree. He should focus on what he has, not what he is desperate to reclaim. But...”  
  
“But...?”  
  
“But he wants the glory.”

“So you think he will ignore what I have to say about the elves anyway?” Roselyn asked him, brows furrowing. “Despite what he said in the council meeting?”

“It’s possible.” Alistair rubbed a hand through the back of his hair and over his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on in his mind at the moment. Honestly I... if he’s planning what I think he’s planning, he’ll have more to worry about than just the elves in the Alienage rising up on his hands.”

Roselyn went quiet and stared at him hard. He gulped, knowing he had accidently divulged information he meant to keep private, at least until he had more than just guesses and a gut feeling to go on. Distracting himself by drinking from his tankard, he watched the wedding party carry on, pretending not to feel Roselyn’s gaze on him. He watched the dancers fling themselves about, the musicians changing easily from a high-spirited jig to a more subdued tune where the focus resumed on the bride and groom.

“We’re out to celebrate,” he said after almost completely draining his tankard and minutes of tense silence. “Why are we talking about the King?”

“Because if he rebukes his word it hardly seems like something to celebrate.”

“Rose...” Alistair gave a low sigh. He ruffled a hand through his hair, lips drawing into a tight line. He was not irritated; not with her, or with the situation but this was not how he intended the evening to progress. He wanted to take her from the palace for them both to unwind, especially after a day like today with the confrontation they both witnessed. Searching his mind for a way to explain, a way to apologise, he gave a little gasp when Roselyn pressed a kiss to his cheek, placing a hand on his thigh.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, resting her forehead against his temple. “I don’t want to fight. I know this can’t have been what you had in mind when you suggested we leave the palace.”

“Not really,” he admitted with a half-hearted smile. “Naive of me, really. To think something as simple as leaving the palace could help us unwind and stop thinking about my father.”

“Not naive,” she replied. “It’s just been a busy day. Lots of things were said.”

“That’s true.”

“Including...” He heard her gulp, her breath shudder on a slow exhalation. “Including something you said... earlier.”  
  
Alistair leaned away from her. “Me?” he repeated looking at her. She gazed up at him from beneath her eyelashes for a moment before dropping her gaze in an uncharacteristically submissive fashion. “What did I say?”

“You...” Roselyn swallowed thickly. Alistair watched as she licked her lips and could almost hear her trying to choose her words with care. He turned more towards her, lifting one hand to cup her face. He slowly trailed his thumb across her jawbone and up across her cheek, skimming the corner of her mouth. “In our room... you...” She swallowed again, “you said...”  
  
He remembered now she spoke about it. He remembered his earnest declaration to her after kissing her once they were in private. He recalled how easily it came to him too, how the words stumbled out of his mouth without a second thought – like he told her a hundred times a day. Like it wasn’t the first time, and should have been saved for a more intimate occasion.

“I said I love you,” Alistair explained, his voice growing husky with the depth of his words. His cheeks grew warm and he watched as Roselyn’s face blossomed with pinkness. “I remember.”

“Oh...” Roselyn tilted her head to one side, inching towards him. Her breathing was short, sharp, excited as she inclined to be closer, until their lips were almost touching. “Did you...” She paused and reconsidered her question. “I mean... _do_ you...?”

“Do I...?” Alistair teased, smirking. He brushed his fingers down her face, winding loose ringlets around the tips of his fingers. He could feel Roselyn’s pulse racing in her neck, her breaths landing on his lips drawing him closer but denying him the kiss he sought. "Do I what?"

“Do you...” Roselyn bit her bottom lip, grey eyes darting up to meet his and then disappearing again beneath fluttering eyelids. “Do you... _love_ me? Or was it a... slip of the tongue?”

Nuzzling against her forehead, Alistair felt his stomach clench and tighten as though a hand was clutching it in a fist. His limbs grew colder, the blood in his veins he could almost feel moving more sluggishly. When he told her the first time, it was in the heat of the moment. He was proud of her, and the words slipped out without his meaning them. Now she was asking him to clarify, to tell her whether he meant it or not when those three words flew out of his mouth.

He did not regret them, not even now as his mind churned and his stomach made the ale he consumed rise like bile in his throat, threatening him with sickness. He could not regret them. He never believed he would be happy with the woman he was arranged to marry since childhood, but Roselyn surprised him and his feelings for her only grew stronger with every passing day. He did not wish to startle her, rush her, or make her feel as though she needed to reciprocate every gesture and emotion in kind.

“What would you like it to be?” he asked her after a few seconds of pensive quiet.

Roselyn gave a sharp, exasperated exhale and started to move away from him. “You louse!” Laughing, Alistair pursued her and pressed his lips to hers when he was close enough. Roselyn relinquished to him, arching into his hand where he lay it on her waist. Her mouth opened a little and Alistair glanced the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, smiling into the soft mumble which rose from her throat. Her hand at his thigh gripped a little tighter into the material of his breeches and Alistair spread his hand across her back, bringing her closer.

As Roselyn broke away, eyes closed while she chased her breath. Alistair kissed the bridge of her nose and her eyelids. “I meant it,” he assured her with raw sincerity. “Maybe it’s too soon and you don’t feel the same way or you don’t want to say it back. That’s fine. I don’t need to hear it from you until you’re ready.” He held her face in his hands, lifting her head to press a soft kiss to her mouth. “But I love you.”  
  
Roselyn kissed him before more words could spill out of his mouth. She kissed him hard and heated, her lips moulding over his and seeking him with fervent ardour. Alistair wound both his arms around her waist, one hand stretching across her upper back while the other dragged lower, skimming across the top of her breeches then pausing to grasp at her backside. He almost dragged her into his lap until she was sitting on his knees, their dark corner obscuring them from the eyes of everyone else in the tavern. Not that Alistair could find it in his mind to care if they were seen. He loved this woman and he wanted everyone to know about it; damn their station and damn their sensitivities.

Roselyn slid one hand up into his hair. Fingernails raked against his scalp in a way which made Alistair’s hair stand on end and pleasurable shudders jolt down his spine, making his blood scream in his veins and his gut coil. Her other hand at his thigh glanced upwards, smoothly caressing the inside of his leg. Her fingers brushed against the growing arousal in his breeches making him groan, then a more intentional stroke over his cock which made his hips buck. He found her boldness surprising but not unwelcome. In bed she could be so demure and gentile, yet this was an exciting side to his wife, and one he was eager to learn more about.

She caressed him through the supple leather of his clothing, slim fingers winding through the laces making his trousers slacken around his hips enough that she could ease her hand inside to cup him through his small clothes.

His breath grew harder to take, his chest tightening as if held by a vice. Leaning his forehead against the side of Roselyn’s head watching the movement of her hand and feeling it through the cotton barrier between her skin and his, Alistair found himself gasping and fighting to thrust into her palm.

“Maker’s breath, Rose...” he panted, his eyesight going a little hazy at the edges. He imagined more than once Roselyn pleasuring him like this; her hand wrapped around his length, stroking and squeezing and bringing him to the edge of bliss until he cascaded over it. But he never imagined it would be in the middle of a tavern where anyone could see them. He never imagined she would be so brazen and bold – but he liked it.

“Mhm?” She pressed a kiss to his mouth, one he returned with quaking lips. She squeezed his shaft through his small clothes and a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper fell out of his mouth. She chuckled, lips gliding across his cheek towards his ear. When he felt her teeth close around the lobe, Alistair's insides trembled and he felt himself growing weaker. “Maybe we should go upstairs?”

“Al-alright...” He nodded, barely able to find a coherent word in his head. "I-if you're sure..."  
  
Roselyn climbed off his lap and he missed her hand around him and her weight against him immediately. She got to her feet and stretched, he was certain on purpose, lifting her arms above her head so he was given a tantalising view of her waist and smooth skin as her jerkin slid up following the movement and contours of her body. Pulling his shirt low as he got to his feet, Alistair squeezed and smacked her bottom - an indication to get moving. She weaved through the crowd with more ease than he was able to with a painful erection and trying to hold up his breeches.

She waited at the stairs for him and he watched the attractive swagger of her hips as she climbed them leading him up to the assorted guest rooms the tavern had to offer. Roselyn knocked on several to see if anyone would answer and found a vacant room at the end of the hall. It was furnished with a bed, a dresser, a small table, and a candle, Alistair slammed the door closed behind him, locking it with the rusted old key.

Before Roselyn could move or tempt him further, Alistair grabbed her up into his arms, pushing up against the closest wall. He nudged a leg between hers, grinding his hips and rubbing at the crux between her thigh making her shudder and groan into his ear. He kissed her neck, hungry and sloppy, pushed by a need and want for her and with his hands free he groped her backside, squeezing through her close fitting clothes.  
  
She made quick work of his breeches and how they hung loose around his hips. She unwound the laces, pushed his trousers down over his buttocks with his small clothes and grasped his hard length in one hand. Her fingers curled around his girth and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as she began to stroke from hilt to tip, twisting her hand a little which added a layer of friction. She swiped her thumb across the head of his cock and his hips jerked almost on their own.. She giggled beside his ear, Alistair bit down on her shoulder to muffle his groans.

When he pleased himself it was rushed and over in a few minutes, quick and to the point. It was more to give him a moment of relief than anything else. Roselyn’s inexperience, the nerves she fought to quell made her more aware, made her caress him slower. He knew she was listening to the noises he made. Each time she did something different, squeezed tighter or changed her pace, and a groan or shuddering sigh would tumble past his lips it was something she remembered. She was experimenting: stroking slow and fast, with two hands, with one hand, the whole shaft, just the head. Each different gesture was new for her, and held a sense of newness for Alistair too. Not once had anyone ever pleasured him, and he felt a sense of pride that this first for him was a first for Roselyn too.

Reaching down, Alistair slid his palms along the back of her legs, curving his large hands around to caress inside and towards the juncture of her thighs. Roselyn trembled in his hold, her breath as quick and uneven as his.

His desire over taking him, Alistair thrust into Roselyn’s hand, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, his fast, hot breaths making her skin damp. She tightened her hold and he whimpered into her flesh, nibbling at the curve of her neck.

“Rose,” Alistair moaned against her shoulder, his gut bunching like his muscles when he was prone to swing with a blade. He held back the urge to release, desperate to cling onto the moment, the sensation of her hand wrapped around him as long as possible. “R-Rose...”  
  
“Yes?” She turned her head and Alistair lifted his to crush his mouth to hers in desperation. The fingers of her free hand wound up into his hair, her tongue slicked across his lip and he shivered, driving his hips steadily into her grip. “Is this good?” she asked him, and he was not certain if she meant for him to answer or not. Her fingernails scraped gently across his scalp, another pleasing shudder rippled down his spine and he managed to nod. Her hand around his cock tightened, and her lips muffled Alistair’s weak whine.

She began to pump him, building to a increasingly quicker pace. She smeared a pearl of precum across the sensitive head and bit softly on his bottom lip when he gasped. “M-maker’s breath—” Alistair sighed, “I-I can’t—“  
  
His other words mutated into a guttural groan as his climax crashed over him. Drops of his seed spurted into Roselyn’s hand, onto her wrist and her jerkin. She stroked him until he was finished and his cock was flaccid and then – after cleaning her hand on a nearby blanket – draped her arms around his neck. His skin was damp with sweat, his heart thundering in his chest, bumping into his ribs painfully. Roselyn kissed his brow, stroking her fingers across his shoulders. Alistair tidied himself up, pulling his small clothes and his breeches up to conceal himself. Catching his breath he traced his fingers up and down Roselyn’s sides, feeling his vision return to him and clarity be restored.

“I’m sorry,” he found it funny, the first thing he uttered was an apology. Roselyn gave him a silent, quizzical look. “For...” He cocked his head to one side, “I should have said it would be messy.”  
  
Chuckling, Roselyn shook her head at him and pressed her lips against his. He sighed into her kiss, skimming his hands down to hold her waist. “We should go back to the palace.” She murmured against his mouth. “We could continue our celebration there?” She lifted a suggestive brow, smiling up at him, her fingers curling through the short strands of hair at the back of his head.

The grin which spread over Alistair’s lips was wolfish and he growled into Roselyn’s mouth, claiming a fierce kiss. She giggled, rising onto her toes to press against him. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice a predatory tone. “That is an excellent idea.”

Rain started as a drizzle on their way back to the palace and was a relentless downpour by the time they were back. When they climbed the servants stairs up to their chambers they were both sodden and squelching, leaving footprints and a trail of water in their wake. But even the wetness of their clothes and the chill which ran over them both was unable to quell or quench the heat between the two of them. Alistair stole regular kisses as they made their way back from the tavern. He pressed Roselyn into walls of buildings, ground his hips against hers and swallowing the soft little moans she made.  He held her hands above her head in a possessive, dominating way, grinning into every kiss eager to get back but unable to keep his hands off her.

Roselyn reciprocated, biting his bottom lip when he kissed her and laughing through the moments of clumsy groping. She rubbed her body against him when they were close and pushed her hands through his hair, creating a scatter of droplets over them both. She slid her fingers under his shirt, fingernails faintly scratching his abdomen and his sides.

They almost fell into their room, laughing and grabbing at the other, tripping over their feet and their limbs. Candles were lit on the table by the bed and in the sconces on the wall providing the only light, washing their room in a soft, orange glow.  
Panting, Alistair watched as Roselyn sauntered away from him, hips still swaying in a way he found alluring and distracting. Her hair plastered to the back of her jerkin, dripping from the rain outside. He watched her retreat further into the room, turn towards him and beckon him with nothing but the heat in her eyes and the coy smile tugging at her lips.

His stomach knotted and twisted, like clothes being wrung out as he approached her. He swallowed mouthfuls of air, gulped down trying to ease the threat of panic and worry boiling away in his belly. What if he did something wrong? What if he hurt her? Or she hurt him? What if there was a problem? _Maker's breath_ , he was hungry for her, for her touch and for the taste of her skin, but he was terrified too.

When he was closer, half at foot at most between them, Roselyn closed the gap. She took his hands in a bold move and led them to the buckle on her belt around her jerkin. Alistair flexed his fingers under the leather and the cool metal looking at her, a silent question as to whether he could remove it. Roselyn gave a silent nod, pressing one hand against his chest. He eased the leather from the buckle until her belt was lax around her waist and then lifted his hands up to the clasps keeping her jerkin fastened together.  
  
Hands shaking, Alistair began to ease the silver notches from their clasps starting at the collar of Roselyn’s jerkin. His fingers trailed lower, each buckle coming away easier than the last the more familiar with them he grew.

The gloom masked the flush of his cheeks but not the warmth his blush emitted, a heat he was certain Roselyn could likely feel radiating off of him. He was aware of her eyes on his face, of the how dry his throat became the more her pale skin was revealed to him, how he struggled to breathe and swallow. Her flesh, still wet from the rain, shone in the candle light. He watched rise and fall of her breasts on her slow breaths which he was sure he heard quaver. His hands paused for a moment, his focus pulled away by the way her breast band bound them to her chest and created attractive swells.

When the final clasp came free he lifted his hands, fingers trailing at a languid pace over her bare skin, following the curve of her navel and her waist up to skim over the sharp angle of her collar bone until his hands were underneath the shoulders of her jerkin. He eased the jacket off her shoulders with Roselyn shrugging out of it and easing it down her arms until it pooled on the floor with her belt. Standing before him almost naked from the hips up, Alistair watched her bite her bottom lip in a way which was both alluring and distracting. He circled one hand around the back of her neck, his thumb sweeping across her jaw as he pressed a searing kiss to her mouth.

His legs felt weak underneath him, shaking, almost like his knees would buckle. He flicked his tongue across Roselyn's top lip, smirking at the way she laughed against the sensation. Her hands drew upwards over his own jacket, fingers fiddling with the brass metal clasps which kept it to his body. He took a step forward, she backed up, a routine they followed until Roselyn's back was flush with the wall and Alistair towered over her, devouring her lips and her breath, tasting her as if she were the sweetest thing he had ever sampled.

Slowly he felt the buckles come loose, his jerkin opening one-by-one from the collar down. Roselyn slipped her hands inside it and pushed it off his shoulders with his assistance until it was on the floor with hers.  
  
Skimming his fingers across her belly, feeling the smoothness of her flesh tremble and shudder under his touch, Alistair ventured lower, his hands dropping indecently low, smoothing across her backside and her thighs. Her soft buckskin breeches stuck close like a second skin, the water making them form to the curves and swells of Roselyn's hips.

Easing one hand towards the laces keeping her trousers fastened, Alistair used the other used to caress upwards. Following the contour of her bare waist and the subtle dip of her navel, his fingertips traced ghost-like patterns over her ribcage. He made an audible gulp when he stroked over her breasts through the material binding them to her chest. His touch was gentle, but enough that Roselyn reacted, sighing against his mouth and arching into him eagerly.

In an act of boldness, Alistair did two things which surprised both him and Roselyn; he squeezed at her breast through her band, pressing the peak of her nipple into his palm, while sliding his other hand lower, between her legs to cup her heat. Both gestures had Roselyn making a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan. Alistair grinned against her lips, pressing their foreheads together while Roselyn's fingers dug into the material of his shirt at his shoulders and she started to rock her hips.

"Rose," he murmured, his voice deeper and graver than he expected it to be. Her eyes flickered open to meet his gaze. Her pupils were dilated, the candles making facets of gold and green reflect back at him. She bit her lip for a moment until Alistair stroked his hand along her mound, then her mouth dropped open on a soft, breathless moan and her head fell back. He kissed her neck, nibbling the line of her throat to her collarbone, lifting the taste of her skin into his mouth with his tongue.

Lifting his head to kiss, Alistair found Roselyn returned it with as much vigour as he gave. He wound his tongue around hers, and breathless groans peppered his voice as she grasped and stroked him through his breeches. He was already excited, straining against the flimsy laces and confining material, her attentions only made it worse and he found himself wanting to give in to her and the way she touched him with such confidence.

Guiding his hand out from between her thighs, Alistair groped her buttocks, squeezing and digging his fingers into her flesh making her chuckle into his mouth. Smiling, he pressed softer kisses to her lips, chasing his breath, cooling the air between them for a moment.

"Tell me to stop and I'll stop," he told her, a level of seriousness to his tone.

"Alright," Roselyn nodded, breathing hard. "But for now, keep going." She crushed her lips to his, pouring desperation, need, and desire into the kiss all at once. It was so overwhelming that Alistair staggered under the weight of it.

Without wasting another moment, he dragged his mouth from hers, kissing her skin, and nipping along the angle of her collar bone. He grasped and squeezed her breasts, nuzzling the swells, kissing her skin, enjoying the way Roselyn breathlessly surrendered into him. Hands winding further down, his lips followed and Alistair slowly dropped to his knees before her like a pilgrim praying before an shrine. He caressed his hands down the back of her legs, over her thighs and her knees, kissing and biting at the soft skin of her navel. With each nip of his teeth Roselyn hissed, and he soothed each reddened bite with his lips and tongue to chase away the sharp pain.

Guiding her to lift her feet one at a time, he eased her boots off, tossing them across the room in random directions. He nibbled the laces of her breeches in his teeth, easing them lose with his fingers until they were undone. The silver clasp came away next, an item he made quick work of with his fingers, nestling them beneath the waist of her trousers.

Roselyn dug her hands and fingers into his shoulders, bracing herself against his back. Alistair peered up at her as he peeled her wet trousers off, down her thighs and her calves. He watched her breasts rise and fall on hurried breaths, observed the deep scarlet flush across her chest and the way her eyelids fluttered when he tickled his fingers across the backs of her knees. As Roselyn stepped out of her trousers Alistair held her steady, and then resumed the exploration of her legs with his hands.

He nuzzled the milky white flesh of her thighs, stroking his hands up the backs of her legs then easing them apart with subtle guidance. Roselyn ran one hand through his hair, nails light scratching his scalp. He bit down on her flesh and was reward with a high pitched gasp. As before, his tongue and lips acted as a salve in the wake of his teeth.

Massaging her thighs, her backside, his rough hands hard and unforgiving across her body, Alistair heard her laugh above him and tilted his head back, resting his chin against her thigh.

"What?" he asked, enjoying the view which greeted him when he peered up at her.

Shifting her weight from one side to the other, Roselyn inclined towards him, guiding her hands around his jaw. Raking his fingers down the backs of her thighs, he felt her shudder towards him, her lips just grazing his.

"Your stubble tickles," she remarked with a coquettish grin.

"Oh." Alistair ran a hand over his chin. "Should I shave?" he inquired, feeling a little foolish for asking in the middle of such an intimate moment.  
  
"No," Roselyn shook her head, the tip of her tongue tracing along his top lip enticingly. "I like it." Grinning against her mouth as she pressed a warm kiss to his lips, Alistair hooked his arms around her thighs and held her legs tight against his chest. Roselyn grappled to hold and support herself on his shoulders, kicking her legs as he lifted her from the ground. "Alistair!" she shrieked, half-giggling, half-alarmed. "Maker's breath! Put me down!"  
  
"In a minute," he replied, reeling backwards in the direction he hoped their bed was in. His legs buckled against the foot of the bed and he toppled back, landing on soft covers and bouncing a little on the mattress. Above him, Roselyn straddled over his chest, shimmying down until her hips were above his, a position they had found themselves in before. Her hands pressed flat into the bed beside his head and her hair tumbled over her shoulders, creating tangled curtains.

He saw her lips curved into a smug little smile, pleased by their positions. Giving her no time to react, he grasped her backside and pulled her down against him tight. He rolled until their places were reversed and he was kneeling above her.

"You arse," Roselyn chided, poking her tongue out. Despite her disapproval, she wrapped her long, bare legs around his waist, urging him closer to her. Alistair could have sworn she rubbed her pelvis against his erection and groaned softly at the momentary friction.

"You can be on top next time," Alistair rebuffed with a cocky smirk. He grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it up over his head. As he dropped it onto the ground Roselyn sat up, her hands slid down the sides of his body, her lips caressing his chest, following his collar and down. Teeth grazing across his skin, over his nipples while her hands wandered up across his back, dragging over his shoulder blades and his spine. She dragged her nails across the skin of his back making Alistair shudder pleasurably and his breath catch in his throat. He trailed his fingers up and down her bare arms and neck, craning his neck to peer down and watch her nuzzle and kiss his chest and abdomen. Her lips were like silk on his skin, the occasional graze of her teeth made the sensitive nerves in his belly jump to the attention she supplied.

His stomach coiling, twisting and turning, Alistair tried to ignore all the anxious, worrisome feelings churning inside him and focus on only the moment. On the feeling of Roselyn's lips gliding smoothly down his chest. Of her fingers mapping the dip of his spine. The warmth of her body enveloping around him. All those, and more, kept his mind on what he was doing and the enjoyment he felt coursing through his veins; on how good she felt in his hands, and much better everything would feel when he was inside her for the first time. His erection throbbed, straining against the confines of his trousers. Roselyn dipped her head lower nipping at the soft skin of his belly with his teeth making him hiss a little. Alistair slipped his fingers and hands through her hair, moving it all to one side so he could see more. Her eyelashes fluttered and tickled where she blinked. Her kisses were white hot, opened mouthed and when her hands caressed the front of his trousers, Alistair bearly contained a quivering moan, arching his head back.  
  
Roselyn's fingers made quick work of the laces of his trousers and within what might have been moments of her fingers skimming the waist of them, her hand was past the confines of his small clothes and wrapped around his length again. Grunting, fighting the urge to buck and thrust into her palm, Alistair ran his fingers down through her hair, across her shoulders, enjoying how she kissed and nibbled at the skin of his navel. He felt his muscles jump in reaction, his nerves igniting into tingling flames. Curving his hands beneath her chin, he tilted her head back enough so he could bend to press a kiss to her mouth.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her, breaking through the lustful haze for a moment. He wanted her. Sweet Andraste, he wanted her _so_ _much_ but he would never push. He would never force her. This was something they both had to want and be ready for.

"Yes," Roselyn breathed, her voice husky. She lifted one arm to wrap around Alistair's neck. "Maker, _yes_." She kissed him hard and hot, and desperate, lips moulding over his. Her breaths were short and sharp, stolen when their mouths parted for the briefest of moments.

Taking rapid breaths through his nose, Alistair curved one hand behind the back of her neck to cradle the base of her skull, he leaned his weight against her. He followed as Roselyn reclined onto her back. Taking his weight on one arm, Alistair leaned to one side, burying his face into the crook of her neck, his vision growing hazy at the edges. He bit and kissed Roselyn's skin, groaning into her neck and winding his free hand down across her belly, skimming the edges of her small clothes as she stroked and squeezed him. He wriggled a little inching his trousers and smalls down so his length was fully exposed. Roselyn circled her thumb around the head of Alistair's cock and he bucked his hips into her grip, groaning her name against her neck.

Alistair tucked his free hand between Roselyn's legs dragging his fingers up and down the insides of her thighs inching her legs apart. He could feel her trembling to his touch, and smiled to hear the soft little gasps whenever he ventured closer to the juncture between her legs, or when he stroked over the material of her smalls. He eased two fingers back and forth along the damp gusset of her underwear and Roselyn moaned, rising her hips eagerly into his touch. Her hand around his length stuttered and Alistair watched her head fall back when he pressed and stroked with more purpose.

When a low chuckle rumbled within his chest, he saw Roselyn's eyelids flutter open and watched her gaze around blindly before her eyes found his. She drew herself closer to him, moving onto her side so they faced each other and hooking her top leg up over his hip. She inclined so their foreheads touched, and Alistair felt her breath burning where it landed on his lips.

A sudden noise came from beyond their bed chamber which startled them both. Roselyn paused, her hand around Alistair's length and he stilled his fingers where they were positioned along the inside of her thigh. For a moment they were both silent, hardly breathing, waiting.

"Probably just something at the window," Alistair murmured allowing himself to relax after a few seconds and the noise did not repeat itself.

"Mhm..." She agreed, mumbling softly when his fingers resumed their gentle exploration at the crux of her thighs. Her lips found his, and he greeted her kiss with heady enthusiasm.  
  
_Tap-tap-tap._ The shy knock at the door came a moment later and everything stopped. Alistair barely contained a frustrated grumble and ripped himself away from Roselyn to deal with the disturbance. He tucked his uncomfortable erection into his breeches, holding them up and closed in a fist. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Roselyn cover herself with a blanket and wrenched the door open.  
  
"Yes?!" barked Alistair, trying to find his voice amidst his breathlessness and his sudden fury at being interrupted. The servant who knocked, a slight, blonde girl almost leapt back, squeaking in fright. Schooling himself, puffing his cheeks out and taking a deep, calming inhalation, Alistair tried again. "Sorry," he breathed out in a whoosh. "What can I do for you?"

"M'sorry to disturb Your Highness," the girl dropped her eyes and bobbed into a curtsy. "But y'father wishes to speak to you."

"My father?" Alistair queried, arching a brow. It was odd for Maric to want to speak to him any time, let alone in the middle of the night. "Now?"

"Now," the servant nodded.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No." She shook her head. "Y'can ask 'im y'self. He's here. Waitin' for you."

"Here?"

"Yes," another nod, "he wants to speak to both you an' Lady Roselyn."

Alistair peered over his shoulder and could make out the surprised expression on Roselyn's face. He shrugged, sighed and turned back to the girl. "Just a minute." He closed the door and pressed his forehead against the wood pushing out his cheeks with a frustrated growl. "What timing that man has."

Arms snaked around his waist from behind and he felt Roselyn press her cheek into his back, her naked skin flush to his. "He wants to see us both?"

"Mhm-hm." Alistair started to tie the laces of his breeches. Roselyn stepped away from him, and the space she occupied grew chill in an instant. Turning, Alistair watched her pick up his shirt from the floor and pull it on over her head. It skimmed mid-way down her thigh and she grinned, planting her hands on her hips, swaying from side-to-side almost playfully when she noticed him looking.

"What?"

"Nothing," Alistair smirked, taking her hand. "I just think you should scrap your night gowns for my shirts when it comes to sleep wear."

Roselyn laughed. "And here I thought you would prefer me completely naked." She whispered to him, passing through the door. Alistair fought the heat that rushed to his cheeks and followed her.

When they entered the presence chamber, Alistair first, Roselyn behind him, they found Maric skimming a book Roselyn left out a few days before by the fireplace. Roo was sitting on a couch, eyes open, alert and trained on Maric, ears pricked, her body tense.

"Your Majesty?" Alistair asked, his words more brusque and biting than he intended. Maric turned towards them, his hair a dishevelled mess, eyes a little bloodshot. In the low flames of the candles, Alistair noticed how much older his father looked. How weary and worn he appeared. He stooped too, hunching over as if the weight of the world pressed down upon him. Maric glanced over their state of undress, Alistair naked from the waist up, and Roselyn's bare legs and her choice of clothing. Alistair stepped in front of her.  
  
"I know it's late," Maric began, clasping his hands behind his back, "and I'm sorry for... You were clearly in the middle of..." He coughed awkwardly, dropping his eyes. "Good for you."

Roselyn chuckled through her nose. She pressed her forehead against Alistair shoulder as he fought to bite back his own amusement at his father's discomfort. "You wanted to see us," Alistair said again, prompting his father past the uneasy tension between the three of them.

"Uh," Maric cleared his throat, "yes. In a few days Cailan and I will be travelling to Orlais with the ambassadors."

"Why?" Alistair asked, unable to keep the question at bay like he usually would have. Maric arched a brow, peering down his nose at him.

"If you must know, there are some clauses in the treaties between Orlais and Ferelden which require updating," he explained, his tone guarded. Maric crossed his arms, standing taller now his embarrassment was past. "While we are away, you will be in charge."

Alistair's eyes widened. "Me?" He pointed at himself and looked back at Roselyn helplessly. She wore an expression of shock that matched Alistair's own sentiments. "Me? Have you gone mad?! Y-you must be joking. I don't... I can't run a... What about Teagan?" He choked on air, his chest growing tight.

"Teagan will be here to assist you," Maric elaborated. "But for the duration of my visit to Orlais you will be overseeing the petitions and councils on my behalf. Dealing with disputes, that sort of thing."  
  
Rubbing his hands over his face, unsure how to take his father's gesture or his dismissive attitude, Alistair laughed weakly into his palms and pressed his fingertips into his eyes. "With respect, Your Majesty, I have no idea how to--"

"I'm sure your wife can assist," Maric interjected smoothly. His eyes lingered on Roselyn and her barely dressed state for a moment longer than Alistair liked. He took a purposeful step in front of her, blocking her mostly from view. Maric's eyes shot back to Alistair's with a flash of annoyance. "She appears to have a steady head on her shoulders and a brain. I suggest utilising her and her know how."

"Does Cailan know?" asked Alistair, sighing loudly.

"Cailan will have enough to deal with in the weeks to come," Maric told him. "This trip to Orlais is something of a test." He rubbed his fingers through his trimmed beard, dropping his eyes to the floor. Several uncomfortable heartbeats of silence passed between them before Maric seemed to return to the room and recall where he was. "There's something else, too. One more thing."

"Oh?" Alistair tried keeping the hopeless laugh out of his voice, but it filtered through anyway. "Just one more thing?"

"The elves."

Roselyn stepped forward, but Alistair kept a protective hand loose around her wrist and his body partly in front of her. "What about them?"  
  
"While I am gone, I expect the two of you to work out a solution," Maric told them his tone leaving no room for disruption or argument. "A solution to their housing situation, to the illness and their malcontent attitudes. Shianni seemed to take a shine to you, Alistair. And you, My Lady," he laid his eyes on Roselyn, "appear to have taken a shine to them."

Roselyn pursed her lips. Alistair could see her considering arguing or snapping at Maric and tightened his grip around her wrist enough so she looked at him. Catching her gaze he shook his head. It would not be worth getting into a heated debate over. Maric's mind was made up. His intention was to lay a problem he had no desire to solve himself at their feet, that way if things went wrong it would be Alistair and Roselyn's fault. No longer Maric's problem.

"Very well, Your Majesty," Roselyn murmured with cool, ice queen grace which reminded him of Anora. "Alistair and I will see to the city elves for the duration of your absence."

"How long will you be gone?" Alistair asked, ruffling a hand through his hair while trying hard to understand and swallow everything his father was telling him.

"A month or two," he shrugged, as if the length of time was of no real consequence. Alistair blanched to know he would be in charge for so long. If his father was lucky, perhaps he would return in time to undo any disasters created while Alistair stepped in. "If you prove yourself useful and capable while I am away, I will consider passing more responsibilities to you."

"Oh?" Alistair lifted his head. "Why's that?"

"Because you seem to have grown in the last few months, boy," Maric barked at him, almost angry in his words. "For whatever reason you have recently appeared to have stopped bumbling along and developed a back bone."

"Don't flatter me too much," snorted Alistair sarcastically. He saw his father's eyes blaze, his nostrils flare. He had over stepped a boundary by being impertinent and would pay for it. Yet the reprimand he expected did not come. He watched Maric relax a little, his shoulders drop and the tightness ease out of his face.

"Keep that spirit," Maric smirked, "you're going to need it in the weeks to come." Turning, he went towards the door and grasped the handle. Pausing in the threshold he glanced back over his shoulder. "I would also be pleased to hear you were with child upon my return, Princess." The door closed behind him before either Roselyn or Alistair could respond. They were left in stunned silence, reeling from Maric's words and the subtle hint of warning in his tone at his last comment.

Roselyn moved first, away from Alistair to the couch where Roo lay. She sat on the edge, placed a hand on the mabari's head and teased her fingers through the loose ringlets over her shoulder. Alistair rubbed his face in his palms again, starting to pace up and down the room, heavy steps, his stomach weighting him down as if he had eaten lead.

"Well..." Alistair groaned into his hands. "Of all the things he could have said... that was... not even on the list."  
  
Roselyn offered a weak smile, "At least it means Cailan won't be here for a while."

"True."

"I wonder why Anora isn't going with them."  
  
Alistair chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. He knew why. His father's talk about clauses in the treaties was an excuse. He and Cailan were going to Orlais to meet with the Empress; to finalise the marriage between Cailan and Celene and to dissolve his marriage to Anora somehow. Something they could do more easily in Orlais, away from Anora and the possible guilt they might feel. He did not wish to divulge that to Roselyn though. He knew how fond of Anora she was, if she knew... She would probably tell Anora out right. Or march right out of the room and expressly tell Maric and Cailan they could not put her aside for no reason.

"I don't know," Alistair sighed, shrugging. He turned to her, rubbing the back of his neck and placing a hand on his hip. "Shall we go to bed?"

Nodding, Roselyn got to her feet and patted her thigh to summon Roo with her. "I think that's a good idea. Suddenly I'm not feeling so... amorous."

Alistair's mouth curved into a crooked smile. "Neither am I, mores the pity." He followed Roselyn through into the bed chamber, still enjoying the way her hips moved and how the hem of his shirt skimmed her thighs. "I really do like how that shirt sits on you," he remarked, watching Roselyn slide into bed, tucking her feet under the covers.

She smiled, half-hearted but warm and patted the space beside her. "Well, maybe I will make wearing your shirts in bed a habit. If you like them on me so much."

"I'd like that," Alistair chuckled. He lay next to her on his back, one leg under the covers the other dangling out to keep cool. Roselyn inched across the bed towards him, draping one arm over his waist while he hugged her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, willing himself to succumb to sleep. But with his father's words whirling around in his head, he knew that would not happen. For all he knew, he would not sleep well again until his father was returned.

* * *

 

Chapter art commissioned from hoskky on tumblr:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! :D Please let me know what you think. And I will be back soon with the first half of chapter 10!


	14. Chapter 10: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Maric and Calian prepare to leave, the King offers some parting advice to Alistair. The first council meeting headed by Alistair gets underway, and the members of Maric's council who have remained at court while he is gone are not going to make the transition and easy one. Alistair and Roselyn have their work cut out for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the patience while I had a bit of a longer break between uploads. January is a funny month, but it's February now! Whee!  
> Here is the first part of chapter 10. I hope you enjoy it! Things are definitely heating up between Alistair and Roselyn, wouldn't you say??
> 
> \- Credit to razerthane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) for being my thorough and conscientious beta readers. <3 I feel like my writing has improved because of them.
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Mature [nsfw]

* * *

 

_Month: Beginning of August_

_\--_

On the morning of Cailan and Maric's departure to Orlais, the palace was in chaos. Outside, carriages were piled up with trunks of clothes and gifts of goodwill from Maric to the Empress and her court. Servants ran back and forth, shouting at each other for items to be found and packed or unpacked last minute. Meanwhile, Maric and Cailan waited with the horses  along with Anora, Alistair, Teagan, and Roselyn.

Maric bid his councillors and court farewell the night before in a lavish banquet; one last hurrah to show off to the ambassadors and to make sure their report back to Celene was favourable and complimentary. The initial plan was that Maric and Cailan would travel to the port in Denerim with the ambassadors, Anora, Alistair, and Roselyn where they would say their farewells. But Anora was unwell and barely able to stand let alone travel through the city, so Maric's plans were changed.

The ambassadors were already seated in the first of three carriages and ready to leave. During their visit Roselyn could recall speaking to them only twice. They spoke little Ferelden and her Orlesian was not as good as it could have been, plus they both seemed overwhelmed by how much effort Maric was putting into their visit that their attention was easily stolen. From what she glimpsed of them that morning, they both looked a little worse-for-wear but pleased to be returning to their home country after being away so long.

Cailan was his usual self, jostling and jesting with his father and a few of the guards who would escort them through the city to the port. She noticed in the few days since Maric told her and Alistair they would be leaving that Cailan was far more jubilant than usual. He was louder and more intense - if that was possible. His attentions turned away from her, something she was grateful for, and she overheard him almost singing the praises of the Orlesian Empress he was to meet with his father.

Roselyn knew little of Empress Celene; only that she was Empress, she was well liked by her country - despite some of her questionable choices and companions - and she enjoyed bestowing gifts and treasures on the favourites of her court. She was also notoriously fickle. A favourite could be an outcast in less than a week when it came to Celene. She was known for having a fickle nature, caring perhaps too much what her people thought of her where Maric did not care enough.

The more emphasis was put into the visit of Maric and Cailan to Orlais, the more Roselyn began to wonder if the treaties really were the reason for it. She was certain the adjustments needing to be made to the treaties was a genuine excuse, but not the whole reason. She was beginning to think Maric had intentions to marry again. It would make sense to ally Ferelden and Orlais in a more permanent way than just pieces of paper, and Queen Rowan was dead over a decade. It made sense for him to want to marry again. If that was the case, she hoped Celene would be a good influence on him. That perhaps she might curb some of his more outlandish behaviours.

Alistair was a nervous wreck. He stood beside her on the steps, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He had been uneasy since the night Maric told them he was leaving Alistair in charge - now that uneasiness seemed to have turned to pure terror. Alistair had not thought his father was serious, now it was dawning on him just how serious his father was. Ferelden would be his responsibility for the next month or more and he was not handling it well.

She knew how much it weighed upon him, too. She woke several times to find him gone from their bed in the dead of night and found him wide awake in the presence chamber, staring out of windows or a the pages of a book, not reading. His fear was founded, she knew that. Cailan was the one who was taught how to run a country, to take over after Maric's death. Whatever Maric's plan was in leaving Ferelden in Alistair's hands, he was going to turn his youngest son prematurely grey.

Teagan, however, was on hand and had been since Maric's announcement to the court that Alistair would be in charge. Roselyn was certain he was sent by the Maker; he was calm and collected, and seemed to have that effect on Alistair. He took them both aside in the lead up to Maric's departure to discuss things: how councils would be dealt with while the King and crown Prince were away and how Alistair would need to deal with petitioners on a daily basis while trying to fit in his usual lessons with Ephraim and his combat instructors. He tried to assure them both that they would easily fall into the role of temporary rulership and find it easy after a week or so. Both Alistair and Roselyn were less confident, but Teagan promised he would be on hand to assist them with whatever they needed.

As the last of the trunks where heaved on top of the carriages and the grooms began to lash them into place for the journey through the city, Maric turned his attentions to those standing on the steps. He glanced at Anora, who had a light sweat on her brow and leaned on the wall for support. Given the fact that she spent most of the night awake and heaving, she looked better and more composed than most would.   
  
"Why so glum?" Maric asked, turning his attention to Alistair. "You'll be fine."

"If you return to a kingdom in ruins, remember it was your idea to put me in charge." Alistair replied, only half-joking. Roselyn knew just how heavily this responsibility weighed upon him. He spoke about it to her only a few times, but those times were enough for her to recognise his anxiety.

"You'll be fine," repeated Maric, smacking him on the shoulder. "I have every faith in you."

Alistair gave a strangled laugh and pushed his hand through his hair. "Wonderful."

"It's not like you could do anything father and I can't undo when we return," Cailan chimed in, coming to his father's side. He was like a child on Wintersend, giddy and excitable. Roselyn thought him _almost_ endearing - if only it wasn't for the other parts of his personality which made him odious.

"Well, that makes me feel so much better," Alistair bit back at his brother. The animosity between them was still as strong as it had been since the tourney and the masquerade almost a month ago. The playfulness of their relationship was gone. Something had changed between them and Roselyn was not certain what it was.

"I'm only trying to help," snorted Cailan, folding his arms across his chest. "You should be grateful for this opportunity. It's probably the only chance you'll ever get at ruling Ferelden." His lips pulled into a sneer and he rocked back onto his heels.

Alistair stiffened beside Roselyn and she placed an hand upon his arm. "Try not to drown, Cailan," Alistair retorted, causing Cailin to growl and clench his jaw. "Then again, with all that hot air you'd probably float all the way to Orlais anyway." Cailan's eyes widened. Alistair turned his gaze to their father. "If you lose the wind just have Cailan talk into the sails. You'll probably make better time."

A loud laugh rumbled up from Maric's chest. He looked between his two sons, grinning - almost beaming - with pride, as if this aggression was something to be proud of.

"Where did you find your backbone?" Cailan asked, bitingly. His gaze turned to Roselyn and she felt it wander down over her and back up. Her stomach coiled and she fought not to retreat behind Alistair away from Cailan's eyes. "Hidden between your wife's legs?"

Taking a step towards his brother, Alistair snarled at him. "I swear, if you--"

"Alistair," Maric interjected with a low sigh. He lifted a brow on his face and rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. "While I enjoy the two of you barking back and forth, the tide won't wait. You can continue your arguing when we return from Orlais."

Cailan snorted, "Fine." He turned on his heel, marching towards the carriage.

"Cailan!" Maric barked. Cailan stopped and turned to his father, sweeping his blond hair out of his eyes. "Say goodbye to Anora."

Casting a distasteful eye at his wife, Cailan stomped towards her like a petulant child being told to greet his least favourite aunt. He bowed and took one of her hands to kiss the back of it, almost grimacing as he did so. As he rose to stand to his full height, he wore a sly smile across his lips. "Look after yourself while I'm away."

"I will." Anora nodded her head a little. "And you. Be careful on the ship. Remember you get seasick."

"Yes," Cailan grit his teeth. "Thank you..." A moment's pause and he stepped towards her, dropping his voice low enough that Roselyn struggled to hear him. "Things will be different when I return." Cailan pressed a chaste kiss to Anora's mouth. "I promise."

An enigmatic smile curved across her mouth. "I know they will." He kissed her again, brief and more for show than through any real affection, turned and marched back to the carriage where he climbed in and waited for Maric.

"You _will_ be fine," said Maric keeping his voice soft while he spoke to Alistair and Roselyn. "I wouldn't have entrusted the running of Ferelden to the two of you if I didn't think you could manage it."

"Your faith is..." Alistair sighed. "Anora is probably better suited to look after Ferelden in your absence. She has more experience and a better head on her shoulders."

"Two heads are better than one," Maric retorted almost playfully. He glanced between Alistair and Roselyn, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I did not expect this marriage to create a capable pair, but... you have surprised me."

"Your Majesty?" Roselyn cocked her head.

"Whatever effect you've had on my son, it's good. He's grown bolder with you at his side." His eyes on Alistair turned fond in their glance. "Perhaps that's what he needed, some support. Something I, regretfully, did not give him."

"I am standing right here," mentioned Alistair, burning scarlet around his ears and his forehead. Maric chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "I can hear you talking about me. I am not suddenly deaf."

"I know you can," sighed Maric, "and it's high time I was honest with you."

Alistair's face contorted into one of suspicious wariness. "Honest about what...?"

"A lot of things." Maric said, mostly to himself and nodded. "When I return you and I will talk. About you, about me... about your mother."

"M-my mother?"

"Mhm." Maric nodded again. "There are some truths about her you should know." Roselyn watched the sincerity and fondness almost melt from the King's face. He grew harder in his expression, more severe. "The first council will be the hardest. Do not let them bully you or boss you around. You are my word, my voice while I am gone. They should treat you as they treat me - do not be afraid to remind them of that."

"Right." Alistair's head jerked into a brief nod. "Any other advice?"

Maric chuckled. "Only to trust your instinct and your wife." He smiled at Roselyn making her feel on edge in an instant. She was not used to Maric being kind or thoughtful. His gentle words and disarming compliments were confusing and not like the man she knew as King. "I think she will be an asset to this family."

"Finally, something I agree with you on," Alistair grinned, sliding an arm around Roselyn's waist and pulling her against him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she blushed, dropping her gaze to the floor. "She's quite something."

"Stop it." She shoved him half-heartedly which only made Alistair clutch her tighter to him and Maric's familiar rumbling laugh tumble out of his mouth.

"For your efforts with the Alienage I have given some names to Teagan of people you might use," Maric explained. "Duncan is a friend of mine, a Grey Warden, and a fair and just man. I think he'll be helpful when it comes to dealing with the elves. And..." he paused and Roselyn noticed he almost seemed to hesitate before he spoke. "Fiona. A skilled healer. She's a mage from Orlais, but has permission to travel to Ferelden to assist here. Utilise them both."

"Duncan and Fiona." Alistair repeated as if putting their names to memory. "Got it. We're going to visit the Alienage as soon as this council meeting is finished. We want to get started right away."

"Good." Maric rocked on his heels. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, words wanting to be said by a man who viewed himself too strong to say them. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth once and closed it again, his brows furrowing into the same frown Alistair sometimes wore.

"Well, I hope you have a good journey," Alistair blurted out. "Smooth sailing and all that."

"Thank you," Maric nodded. "And I hope I don't return to a country on the brink of civil war for whatever reason."

Alistair laughed awkwardly, "I make no promises."

Placing a hand on his son's shoulder, Maric's expression softened. "In all truth, Alistair, I know you can do this. I would not have given you this responsibility if I did not think you could undertake it."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"And I know I don't always act it but..." Maric gulped down a mouthful of air, "whatever you may think, I _am_ proud that you're my son."

"F... Fath--..." Alistair blinked hard. "I... You don't have..." He sighed, and pushed a hand through his hair. "Thank you."

A small smile quirked at the corners of Maric's mouth before he retracted his hand and straightened to his full height. "Look after Ferelden while I'm away."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alistair bowed and Roselyn dropped into a curtsey. "I hope you have a safe journey."

"Thank you, boy." Maric bowed briefly to them before retreating into the carriage where Cailan was waiting. The driver snapped the reins and the four horses broke into a trot, their hooves echoing off the cobbles and the walls of the palace. Anora disappeared inside with the help of Teagan before the carriages were out of view, but Roselyn remained on the steps with Alistair, squeezing his hand in the hopes he found her grasp supportive.

Once the carriages were gone from sight, Alistair released a long, slow breath Roselyn thought he must have been holding the whole time. She tilted her head back to look at him, offering a small smile which he returned albeit weakly. As he pressed a kiss to her forehead, she wrapped her arms around his waist able to feel him almost trembling through his clothes.

"I suppose we should get this council meeting underway," Alistair mumbled against her temple. He groaned a little. "I really don't want to."

"I know." Roselyn lifted one hand to stroke across his jaw. "I'll be there though, and Teagan. You won't be alone."

"Thank the Maker for that," he sighed. Roselyn stepped away and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She gave his arm a gentle tug, guiding him up the steps and he followed. The palace was calmer now the King and Cailan were departed. Servants returned to their normal duties, bustling and hurrying around to catch up on things they put aside to help with packing.

The main chamber where petitioners and courtiers waited to see the King was emptier than usual. Roselyn knew many returned to their homes while Maric was away, thinking Alistair would be useless and that it was pointless for them to present their requests to him. She was going to prove them all wrong. She was going to help Alistair prove himself to every noble, every courtier, every single person who ever doubted him. And more than that, she was going to prove to Alistair himself that he was better than he believed.

Teagan was already in the council chamber when the guards pushed the doors open for the two of them. The distasteful gazes of old, traditional men staring down their noses as the King's bastard son and his outspoken little wife as they entered. They would not make Alistair's job of ruling in his father's stead an easy one. They would fight his choices, his wishes, and his goals tooth and nail while making comparisons to Maric and Cailan.

Alistair knew these men in the guise of a Prince who would never rule and never have responsibility. They were unhappy he was now in a position of power, even if that position was a temporary one and he was acting on behalf of his father. Alistair was painfully under-prepared for the tricks and treachery these _ennobled_ men would throw his way. Roselyn was not.

She grew up she sitting in meetings and council sessions with her father and the Banns who lived in lands of Highever. She knew how their minds worked, how they would twist and squirm and try to manipulate words being said to their own ends. She would not allow any of them to make a fool of Alistair while he tried his hardest, as he always did. She would protect him from their biting words and sneering remarks, and Maric would return to a council on bended knee to Alistair - not the other way around.

They took their seats beside each other and opposite Teagan, leaving Maric's chair vacant. Teagan shuffled a few papers across to Alistair for him to read through and skim over. The councillors shifted and moved in their seats, waiting for the meeting to begin. Roselyn knew those remaining by sight only, having perhaps spoken only a word or two to most of them in her time at the palace.

Closest to her was Arl Gallagher Wulff of West Hills; old, gnarled, set in his ways. He was someone who would have been happier in his homestead and relinquishing his title to his offspring, if he had any. Beside Arl Wulff was one of one of the most traditional of all Maric's councillors and one of his most staunches supporters: Bann Ceorlic from the Southron Hills. He was vocal in the months gone when it came to the Orlesians and their visit. Roselyn was amazed Maric did not have him removed for his comments about the visiting ambassadors. Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak remained, someone Roselyn knew through her father. Fair, but like both Arl Wulff and Bann Ceorlic, traditional. He did not embrace change; it appeared few of Maric's close councillors did.

On the opposite side of the table sat Bann Reginald of White River, young and inexperienced, having taken over after his father died the year before, but clever from what Roselyn heard of him. He was open to change but was still finding his feet in his position. So far he had yet to make a name for himself, often being out-talked by the more experienced councillors. Bann Perrin of Emdale was further down the table, already writing things down on a piece of paper furiously, probably getting ready to note down everything Alistair and she did wrong in the proceedings. The last two members of the council were both like Reginald, young and stepping into the shoes of their fathers. Bann Bronach of the Storm Coast and Bann Parth of Stonewar sat close together, looking more like disobedient children than men with any influence or power.

Roselyn weighed each of them out mentally, considering who would be easiest to sway to Alistair's side and who would not. The older, more stubborn members would be unwilling to let through any of Alistair's decisions. They would fight for tradition to remain and anything Alistair wished to achieve they would try and block, thinking they were doing what they believed Maric would want. The younger ones were harder to place. Their policies and personalities were unknown and they kept themselves so closed off and quiet. She hoped they would be more open to the idea of change, but if they were products of their upbringing and the men who held the position before them; then it was possible they would simply be carbon copies of their fathers.

Under the table, Alistair grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. She could feel him shaking, his palm sweaty and returned his hold just as hard, running her thumb across his knuckles. She could not be openly affectionate to him, not in council. It was improper and could be seen as her trying to use her station as his wife in trying to influence him. All she could do was offer hidden support beneath the table away from prying eyes.

Standing, Alistair glanced down the list of issues to be addressed, then cleared his throat and glanced around the table. Roselyn watched him gulp as the colour in his face drained, making him almost grey. He blanched as if he was about to be sick and push his finger and thumb across his forehead.

"Honoured members of the council," he began. His voice trembled and the paper in his hand shook too. He put it on the table so his terror was not quite so clear. He was like a lamb in a den of wolves, a position Roselyn sympathised with. "As you know, I have been entrusted with the responsibility of ruling Ferelden and caring for her people while my father, the King, is absent. While this is an honour, I am aware that I am inexperienced and would ask your help on matters. I would like His Majesty to return not just to Ferelden, but to a better Ferelden. Any good we can do while he is away brings us closer to that goal."

Alistair paused and a small murmur rippled around the table. Ceorlic and Sighard entered into a momentary discussion in hushed voices. Arl Wulff tapped his fingers on the table, not impressed or moved by Alistair's earnest speech. Perrin, Bronach, Parth, and Reginald were silent for the most part. Bronach shifted in his seat and Parth picked at the pinions on his quill but none of them said a word or did anything.

"Why is she here?" asked Ceorlic, his piggy black eyes pinned on Roselyn. "It's most unnatural, a woman to be taking part in politics. Has she nothing better to do? Are we to be ordered around and commanded by a woman who is not even with child yet?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" barked Alistair, clenching a fist on the table.

Roselyn placed a hand on his arm and smiled prettily at the balding Ceorlic. Ignoring the way her stomach dropped to her knees, she chose to play coy teasing a lock of hair behind her ear - she would not allow anyone to see how their words affected her. "His Majesty has requested my presence during his absence. I will be assisting my husband, your Prince, in matters of ruling until the King is returned from his visit to Orlais."

"Yes," sighed Ceorlic, "but _why_ are you here? Should you not be sewing or learning the latest dances? Making yourself ready for motherhood? We are all _so_ eager for news."

Roselyn blanched and dropped her gaze. She did not realise that the council would use the matter of children against her. It was a low tactic, but a tactic she should have been prepared for. After all, she was still under the watchful gaze of every courtier and the gossip was becoming more toxic the longer she failed to show any signs of being pregnant. She heard the whispers, saw the looks and did what she could to ignore them. Though she was loathe to admit it, Ceorlic had a point. Maric himself said he hoped there would be news of a grandchild on his return and the pressure was mounting. If she still had nothing to show of her marriage in six months or so, she would become the next Anora.

Alistair shook his head his words breaking through her thoughts. "Princess Roselyn is here because the King commanded it. As for whether she is pregnant or not, that is our business and no one else's," he explained, his voice growing stronger and brows lowering over his eyes. Roselyn offered a weak smile when he glanced at her, pretending not to feel her cheeks burning. "If you take issue with this then--"

"Is it because she stormed into the council last week?" inquired Perrin. "That certainly livened up the council session." He grinned, his youth clear on his face. He was barely twenty, fresh faced and eager. "I think more women should be allowed in council."

"Don't be foolish," snapped Wulff. "Women have no place in such matters. That the Princess is here at all is an insult to tradition."

"Gentlemen," Teagan interjected.

"Correct me if I am wrong, Arl Wulff," Roselyn spoke, not wanting to be spoken across or as though she was not present. She coated her words with disarming sweetness as she continued, "But was it not tradition that Queen Rowan, Maker rest her soul, sat in on councils just like this when she was alive?"

"Yes, but--"

"That's what I believed," she smiled again. "Thank you so much for that clarification."

"Gentlemen!" Teagan rose his voice to be heard and to cut off any further comments to do with Roselyn's attendance. "If we could please keep focused." He looked at Alistair. "The first item up for discussion, Your Highness?" He prompted with a supportive smile.

"Uh... yes." Alistair glanced down at the list before him. Roselyn read the words on the paper. Listed in a column down one side of the page were different issues which needed addressing. At the top was listed _'bandits/outlaws- Hinterlands, Lothering and Ironbrook'_ and beneath that _'disputes - property'_ and _'disputes - land'_. The list went down half a page, and at the very bottom were the words _'Alienage - Denerim'._ "The first thing we need to address is the reports of bandits and outlaws."

They settled down to discuss and dispute.

Alistair listened attentively, writing down things he thought pertinent. He allowed each person their time to speak on each issue and countered any arguments with his own. Teagan kept things on track if talks digressed from the main topic. Roselyn was impressed by how calm Alistair appeared and how easily he spoke. His nerves from before disappeared as he fell into his stride, nodding and answering questions posed to him. She almost felt that her protectiveness was unwarranted and that these men respected him enough as a Prince to listen and take him seriously.

This was a side to Alistair she had not witnessed before. The Alistair she saw day-to-day was playful and always cracking wise. He always kept a joke or a sarcastic comment on hand to make to her under his breath. He was affectionate, gentle, and warm when they were alone together. This Alistair was more like Maric. He was stoic and kept his face still, betraying nothing of his thoughts or emotions. It was as if he donned a mask after his initial stumble at the very start. She should not have been surprised; after all Alistair attended council meetings with his father and brother daily as a matter of position and to learn. He probably attended them for years and mastered his method of dealing with the men who were involved on his father's council.

She wondered if his floundering at the start was nothing but a ruse; an attempt to throw these men off and see how they would treat him if he played the fool. He was still nervous though, she knew that much. Every few minutes she would feel his hand beneath the table seek out hers to hold. His palm was still clammy and his grip was still like a vice around hers when he grasped her fingers. She saw him swallow hard and the way he teased his hair at the back of his head, a nervous habit to replace his usual method of ruffling his hand through his hair. Little things it seemed no one else in the room noticed.

The session began to draw to a close. The issues of the day were resolved for the most part. Men would be provided from neighbouring lands to deal with the outlaws and compensated for the duration of their relocation until the issue was resolved. Property disputes were to be addressed _again_ , brought personally to Alistair by the people making the disputes to their ruling lords. He wanted to hear their arguments for himself, not the abridged version from men who considered themselves too important.

Feeling that the meeting was concluded, Arl Wulff was the first to rise from his seat, a gesture Bann Perrin and Bann Ceorlic followed as they gathered up their own papers  and notes from the session. Alistair exchanged a confused glance with Teagan, who was quick to call order and attention to Alistair.

"Gentlemen," Alistair laughed through his nose. "We are not finished."

"That is the last item on the agenda, Your Highness." Sighard gave a slow smile. "There is nothing left to discuss."

"The Alienage," Roselyn piped up, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the meeting.

"Ah, Lady Roselyn." Bann Ceorlic grinned sardonically, "your input has been most invaluable to this council. I cannot imagine how we ever got on without you."

"Ceorlic," snarled Alistair, his brows lowering. Ceorlic cowered under Alistair fierce glare, and shuffled his feet on the floor. "Retake your seats." He ordered in a growl, "The Alienage is still an issue to be dealt with." Perrin did as Alistair ordered, but Ceorlic and Wulff were less inclined. Their attitudes changed in an instant. Their friendly compliance to the proceedings so far appeared to be nothing but a smoke screen. Now their true colours were beginning to show and they held no interest or desire to be involved with the care of the city elves.

"They are elves, Your Highness," Wulff sighed. "They will govern themselves. If you repair the Alienage for them, they will only find something else to complain about."

"I have been tasked to--"

"Wulff knows what he is talking about, Your Highness," Ceorlic agreed with a slow nod of his round, bald head. "Your inexperience is telling. Trust your councillors, as your father does."

"I am not my father," Alistair snapped. "And I will not be paid off with cheap words and lies."

"Lies?" Sighard lifted a brow. "Strong accusations."

"I accuse no one, Bann Sighard," Alistair grabbed Roselyn's hand under the table. She could feel him shaking, despite the fierce expression on his face. He was losing control of the council meeting, of the men meant to help him while Maric was gone.

"Gentlemen, if we could please--" Teagan tried to intervene, the voice of reason, the mediator.

"No, Teagan," Arl Wulff interjected. "The council is concluded, there is nothing more to discuss. The Alienage is a non-issue. It will resolve itself."

"It will not," Alistair barked, his voice straining. He cleared his throat and ran his hand back through his hair, dishevelling it. "It will not resolve itself and I will not allow it to go ignored any longer."

"You are without the authority or power to do anything, Your Highness," sneered Ceorlic. He clasped his hands together almost gleefully. "The elves will fight and thrive as they always do. It is there way."

"Gentlemen," Roselyn snapped up, unable to contain herself or withstand the insult being made towards Alistair any longer. Their eyes turned to her as she got to her feet as calmly as possible. She wanted to present a face of cool grace, as if she could not be shaken by anything, like Anora. Her stomach felt as heavy as stone and it hurt to swallow as her throat threatened to close. But she kept her face still and clear, taking a long breath before she spoke. "Would you address King Maric the way you address his son?" she asked the men around her, looking squarely at Wulff, Ceorlic, and Sighard one by one.

Their expressions flickered. Of course they would not speak to Maric the way they spoke to Alistair. Maric would bark at them and beat them into submission - verbally. He would threaten them or bully them until they agreed. Alistair was not Maric; he did not have the iron fist or the expertise Maric did. Even so, she was resolute that his authority was not going to be undermined.

When none of them spoke or could no longer look her in the eye, a smile flickered across Roselyn's mouth for a moment before her face was still as glass again. "I thought not..." she said quietly. She reached down towards Alistair, stretching out her fingers beneath the edge of the table. Now she needed some support as her gut turned over making her want to retch. He curled his fingers around hers, moving his thumb in a circle against her palm.

"When you insult your Prince, you are insulting your King," she explained, speaking with as much resonance as she could muster, fighting back the quaver in her voice. Sitting in her father's meetings and actually being involved in one were very different experiences. The reality was that she was sorely under-prepared for facing off against these entitled and more experienced men.

"The King has put the welfare of Ferelden and her people in the hands of his son. He has granted Alistair, your Prince, full authority in his absence. Prince Alistair is the King's word and voice while he is abroad. The words the Prince speaks are to be taken as those of the King. When you refuse your Prince, you are refusing your King." She paused, feeling Alistair squeeze her fingers. She glanced down at him and saw him trying to conceal a grin, a little boost of confidence which spurred her on.

"I know you are not unreasonable men and that perhaps I, being nothing more than a mere woman, should not speak on matters such as these - but it still stands. The King has put his faith and trust in Prince Alistair; he expects - _demands_ \- the loyalty and respect you show him to be shown in kind to his youngest son. I would hate for him to return to reports of such... uncouth behaviour." It was a thinly veiled threat but a real one. She would openly denounce any of the councillors to Maric if they refused to treat Alistair with the respect he deserved. She almost wanted one of them to try and call her bluff, but none of them did.

Slowly, they each returned to their seats. Bann Ceorlic lost his nerve first, which did not surprise Roselyn in the slightest. Ceorlic was a man with a lot of bluster, but little courage. He was follower, not a leader and would do what others more powerful than he were doing. Sighard was quick to follow Ceorlic, Perrin too. Arl Wulff was the last to sit, staring down his nose at Roselyn even as he returned to his chair. He smoothed his hand across his beard and tapped the table with his long fingers.

"Thank you for your co-operation," Roselyn said graciously. "I am certain this will not take long. Nor be as painful as some of you seem to believe." She took her place, managing not to fall into her seat like a rag doll as her all but gave out underneath her. She felt a buzzing energy flowing around her body, making her blood speed through her veins. It was like she had just ridden for miles on horseback. Adrenaline pumped through her limbs making her feel like she could do just about anything. It was exhilarating and she could feel her chest and cheeks were warm, flooded with colour.

Alistair squeezed her hand and pressed a brief kiss to the hollow behind her ear. She caught glimpse of his smile, approving and warm, as he sat back in his seat. She settled her hands in her lap, ready to add to the conversation if necessary.

"I'll keep this brief, as I appreciate you're all eager to get away," Alistair explained, speaking clearly. "It's my intention to rebuild the Alienage." Sighard, Wulff, Bronach, and Reginald all choked back on laughter while Ceorlic's face fell at Alistair's bold statement. He continued, ignoring the occasional stifled attempt of one the councillors composing themselves. "The Alienage is outdated and in need of more than just repair I know some of the buildings are still liveable and can be left, simply improved upon. But much of the Alienage is in disorder and is dangerous.  The elves deserve to feel safe."

"That is their responsibility," Ceorlic said slowly, a distasteful look in his eye. "If they cannot keep their own streets safe, then what can we do."

"Making the Alienage a better place to live _will_ make it safer," urged Alistair. "I am certain of it. The elves are without a Hahren at the moment - something they will decide among themselves. In the mean time I will be discussing plans with Shianni."

"The girl who threatened the King?" Asked Perth.

"Yes."

"You don't think that a foolish notion, Your Highness?" Sighard inquired, peering from beneath bushy brows. "She threatens your father and your brother, yet you intend to speak to her on matters of high importance."

"Shianni cares for her people," Alistair replied, his voice growing sharp. "She risked her life and was able to inspire those around her to risk theirs just so they could be heard. She is someone who can speak to the elves and get their thoughts and opinions. Help me earn the trust my father lost."

Sighard sighed. "If you say so, Your Highness."

"For the duration of my father's absence, I intend to make Shianni a Bann of the Alienage." Alistair added. A cry arose from those around him making Roselyn wince, but Alistair spoke over it his voice hard and crushing the dissent. "The elves should have their own representative on the council. This whole council needs reforming, but that is not my job. Her position will be temporary, unless my father deems her station a good one and keeps it going on his return."

"You are making lots of changes in your father's absence," Wulff almost purred. "I must wonder if these are plans you have had waiting to implement for months? Or are they just thoughts coming to you now under the sudden power you have?"

"My power is my father's," Alistair hissed. "If you take issue with how I intend to deal with the matters of my father's country, of his people, and your people, then you may take it up with him on his return. We shall see who he backs."

Arl Wulff settled back into his chair, tightening his hands around the arms. Roselyn gave a long exhale, the tension in the room rising and making it feel hard to breathe. Beside her, Alistair shifted, unfolding a piece of paper.

"None of you will need to oversee the repairs and building works of the Alienage. I'll do that myself with Teagan," he explained. "But you and other members of the council will be expected to provide supplies from your quarries, mines, and lumber mills for materials." Another cry of outrage. Alistair pushed his fingers across his face, Roselyn could see him growing weary. "There is more than enough natural resource in Ferelden to do this small thing for the elves. We cannot rely on outside resources from the Free Marches, Orzammar, or Orlais."

"Your Highness--"

"I intend to go to the Alienage after this council is finished and discuss in depth with Shianni and her kin the plans I have for the Alienage," announced Alistair, cutting off Bann Ceorlic with a sharp glare. "She will be involved in every step, every change, and every decision. Bann Teagan will inform every member of the council what materials will be required and in what capacity. The elves of Ferelden have gone unheard and ignored for too long. It is time to change that, gentlemen." He pressed his hands down onto the wood of the table and stood. "If you have complaints, you can make them to me and to the King on his return. In the mean time, this council is concluded."

He spoke with such finality that the men assembled did not argue. They muttered and groused, grumbling and growling at each other as they left the council room, leaving chairs askew in a final effort to show their discontent. Once they were all gone, Alistair sank down into his seat, leaning his head over the back of it.

"Very well done, Alistair," Teagan said speaking with genuine appreciation. "You did well for your first council. The others from now will be simple."

"I'll hold you to that," laughed Alistair, running his hands down his face. "I've never known them to be so... angry and argumentative. They never behave like that when in session with the King."

"The King rules over them and they fear him," Teagan explained, gathering up the pages he wrote throughout the meeting. The notes and points of discussion to be brought up again at a later date. "You are in his place only temporarily. They saw that as an opportunity to push against you and you held fast. They know you are not going to give in to their bullying."

"Give me a week," Alistair sighed. "I don't know if I can keep this up every day."

"The other council sessions will be shorter, won't they Teagan?" Roselyn asked him across the table. "And not quite so..."

"Aggressive." Alistair prompted.

Teagan gave a slow nod. "Most likely," he said. "Wulff, Ceorlic, and Sighard will write to their closest allies with news of how this sessions went. Information will filter down and the other councillors will return soon once they realise you are not weak willed and they will not get what they want from you."

"And what _do_ they want from me?" Alistair groaned beginning to rotate his fingers over his temple. "My blood?"

"They want to know whether you can be used as pawn so they can achieve their own ends." Teagan advised him. "This is not Orlais, but the Ferelden court is no less treacherous. You have proven that when in a position of authority you are a force to reckoned with. The both of you are." At that Alistair grabbed Roselyn's hand and kissed her knuckles while grinning. She gave a coy smile, tugging her hair behind her ear. She saw Teagan looking between the two of them with a quaint smile on his mouth. "I don't think Maric knew what he would be unleashing when he arranged the match between you. You're proving to be quite the formidable pair."

"Good." Alistair nodded, circling his thumb around the inside of Roselyn's wrist. "Let them remember that."

"I'm sure they will." Teagan told him as he began to walk towards the door. "I'll arrange horses to be prepared for us to go to the Alienage."

"Thank you, Teagan," called Alistair. The guards closed the doors behind Teagan as he left, leaving Alistair and Roselyn in weighty silence. With Teagan gone, Alistair allowed his shoulders to sag and pushed his face into his hands to muffle a groan. Roselyn rose from her chair and settled into Alistair’s lap, draping her arms around his shoulders. On instinct his arms wrapped around her waist bringing her closers and he buried his face into the crook of her neck. “I don’t want to have to do that for two months,” he groused.

“You heard what Teagan said.” Roselyn wound her fingers around locks of his hair at the nape of his neck. “They were just pushing against you. Testing you. You pushed back. Now they have to sit up and take note.”

“Humph.” Alistair shrugged. “I think I prefer when they ignored my existence.”

“Alistair...” Roselyn shook her head. She slipped her hands around his head underneath his chin to cup his jaw. She coaxed Alistair to lift his head, which he did with reluctance until they could look at each other. “You should give yourself more credit.” She kissed her forehead, smiling against his skin. “Standing up to men like that is no easy task and you held your own, completely.”

“You helped.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Alistair insisted, nudging her temple with his. “You made yourself heard, again. Even after their comments about...” He dropped his gaze and Roselyn could sense him trying to search for a tactful way to express the feelings of Bann Ceorlic.

“My not being pregnant?” she offered in an attempt to be helpful. She forced a smile. Ceorlic’s words hit hard than she cared to admit. Her duty as a wife was to have children, and it was a duty she was failing it. She was failing in all her wifely duties. She and Alistair had yet to consummate their marriage – something which would cause scandal through the palace if the court knew. Even with their other activities where they grew comfortable and familiar with each other, it was not enough. A baby could not come from gestures and mutual exploration of each other. Doing things only for pleasure was a selfish thing to all those who had expectations of her. Of them both.

The thought of it still filled her with dread. They only time they had come close was interrupted by Maric. For  reasons Roselyn could not even fathom, everything on that evening felt right. She wanted to have sex with him. She wanted to surrender and give into the sensations she imagined it would feel like. She wanted to know the feeling of Alistair inside her, the drive of his hips, the touch of his hands as he clutched tight to her. She wanted to wrap him up in her embrace, her legs around his hips drawing him in. But it was not as simple as that. She was fearful of so many things.

She knew it would probably hurt, but there was more than that. What if Alistair did not like her afterwards? What if he got what he wanted and suddenly the kindness and gentle words from him disappeared? What if their first attempt resulted in a pregnancy? She was nineteen and in many respects still a child herself. How could she bring a life into the world while knowing so little of it herself? And her feelings for him were overwhelming, frightening in their intensity. He told her he loved her, and Maker she wanted to believe it. After he said it, she realised she was in love with him too. More than once she felt the words on her own tongue and they threatened to tumble out in the midst of conversation or as they fell asleep.  But she held them back each time, buried them down into her gut to stay there, too afraid of how she felt about him to give them voice.

Roselyn never expected to care about the husband she was arranged to marry. She never expected to get on with him or even like him. If he had been the loathsome little cretin she imagined everything would have been easier. They would have slept together on their wedding night, she would be pregnant by now and they would put on appearances. Yet Alistair was nothing like she expected. She cared for him, adored him, and she loved him more than she thought possible; but the depth of her feelings was what made everything so hard. It mattered more now than it ever would have with someone she despised.

“Ceorlic was out of line for what he said.” Alistair’s remark drew Roselyn from her thoughts. His lips brushing the palm of her hand caused her to fall back into the room. “I hope you weren’t offended.”

“Offended?” Roselyn laughed. “By that bloated troll?” Alistair gave a light snort of amusement through his nose. “It takes more than that to offend me.” She smiled through her lie.

“Good to know,” he smiled, inclining his head and pressing a kiss to Roselyn’s lips. She returned it, leaning into him while sliding her arms up around his shoulders to draw him close. Alistair’s hands splayed across the top and bottom of her back, fingers winding in the laces of her dress. Her body flush to his, Roselyn opened her mouth on a sigh, tongue slipping between Alistair’s lips as her heart fluttered wildly behind her ribs. He dragged his tongue across hers, making a pleasurable shudder ripple all across her body.

Roselyn tucked her fingers around the buckles at the collar of Alistair’s jerkin, working the leather free from the first clasp. His hands grabbing her thighs through the skirts of her dress, Alistair brought her closer still, guiding and leading until his thigh was between her legs. He rubbed at the crux of her thighs and short excited gasp tumbled out of Roselyn’s mouth into his.

“Alistair,” she mumbled, trying to remember how to think beyond herself and beyond the way her blood pounded through her veins. “You have to go to the Alienage.”

“I have to go to the Alienage,” he repeated, wrapping a hand up into her hair at the base of her skull and kissing her hard. His lips moulded over hers, clumsy but confident. Sharp breaths were stolen by the two of them, Roselyn began to grind her mound against his leg, the insides of her thighs growing moist.

“I’m serious,” she argued between kisses. “Alienage. Now.” He dragged his mouth from hers, lips descending to press kisses to her neck. Her pulse raced, he pressed his thumb against it, nibbling at her skin. “Teagan will be...” Roselyn’s stomach squirmed. Beneath the skirt of her dress she could feel Alistair’s hand on her bare thigh crawling up towards her sex. "Teagan-- will be--"

“Teagan will be...?” Alistair teased and she heard the smile in his voice. Roselyn found herself too distracted to reply. His fingers stroked the inside of her thighs, brushing against the material of her small clothes with each move she made with her hips. She was curious as to his intentions; he attempted to touch her a few times before but always seemed to lose his nerve. Now with her body growing hotter it felt as though his triumph in the council made him bolder. His fingers hooked around the gusset of her smalls, easing beyond coarse hair to her folds, slick with arousal. He stroked along her slit and Roselyn lurched towards him, biting her lips to muffle her sound.

“Alistair-“ She growled, almost savagely into his mouth. He grinned into the heady kiss she supplied, fingers moving, stroking, sliding across the sensitive nub at the hood of her mound. Roselyn bucked, a jolt of pleasure rising up through her body making her skin feel tight. Her hair rose up, erect as he repeated the motion with a more insistent flick of his fingertips. “Sweet Maker,” Roselyn moaned into his mouth, her brows furrowing. “Alistair, we shouldn’t.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked with genuine sincerity. She leaned her forehead against his, breathing hard. He would stop if she asked him to. He would never push for more than she would give, and she loved him all the more for that. He peered up at her, honey-brown eyes wide, pupils dilated, searching her face for her answer. His fingers paused between her legs and Roselyn shook with the effort it took to stay balanced on the chair kneeling over him. “Rose?”

She did not want him to stop. She wanted to continue; she wanted him. Her whole body cried out for him. But not here, not now. Not when there were actual responsibilities weighed on him by his father to attend to. But a moment. They could steal a moment, couldn't they?

“N-no.” She shook her head, surprised by her own answer and by the weight of her voice. “Don’t stop.” She caught the flash of a grin on his lips before they crashed into hers. Alistair’s tongue passed between her lips, mimicking the movements of his fingers beneath her dress.

He explored her with the lengths of his fingers, his thumb sliding and circling across her clit. Blood pooled, weighing her down, making her grow warmer and more sensitive with each pass of his fingertips. She felt him nudge at the sweet bundle of nerves, making her jerk and gasp against his mouth. He cupped her, pressing the heel of his hand to her drenched folds. Roselyn drove her hips, relishing the sensations which bombarded her senses. Her skin prickling, nerves coming alive and almost dancing with nervous energy beneath her skin. Every inch of her felt as if it was on fire, tingling with lightning, the lightest brush from the fabric of her dress making her need and desires increase.

She pushed her fingers back through Alistair’s hair, sighing, groaning, and whimpering into his mouth with every gesture. Alistair met her kisses, returning them just as hard and with as much ardency. He kissed with resolve and heat which made her head swim dizzyingly.

Between her legs, Alistair moved and pleasured her with surprising skill, instinct making him bold. He stroked his fingers along the hard button of nerves which had her shuddering and circled it with the pad of his thumb before drawing the full length of a finger along it, firm and slow. He spread her lips with his ring and forefinger to drag the tip of middle finger along her wet heat. She writhed against him, muffling impatient little moans in the material of his clothing. He tapped and flicked her clit, laughing softly to the way Roselyn rutted into his torment.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Alistair remarked, voice a deep groan, lips beside Roselyn’s ear. She was struggling to breathe, let alone talk so said nothing only dug her fingers into the shoulders of his jerkin for deeply in the hopes he could feel it. When he pressed and dragged the whole length of his finger along her, a groan arose from deep in Roselyn’s chest. She trembled and dropped her head, pressing it into the curve of his neck. Alistair repeated the movement; first one side, then the other, then across the top of her clit. Soft moans Roselyn failed to silence peppered her sharp breaths. Her body shook, the muscles in her core growing tighter with each pleasing movement Alistair made. Her cheeks and chest bloomed with colour, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and the back of her neck.

Alistair touched and pressed further, exploring and teasing, pushing Roselyn towards the brink of orgasm. Her vision clouded at the corners as she rotated her hips in his hand, urging him and silently trying to guide him where she needed and wanted him the most. His fingers moved faster, touched her with more insistence and drawing out the moment until Roselyn kissed him, crushing her mouth to his and clamping her legs together around his hand. Her body jerked and shuddered under her climax, flooding over her like rough waves against jagged rocks.

Reaching up with his free hand, Alistair cradled her face and littered softer, more reverent kisses to her lips. Roselyn chased her breath through her nose, fighting the quaking of her body. She supported her arms on his shoulders, lips lingering on his with every kiss. Her legs relaxed and Alistair removed his hand from between her thighs.

When she could breathe steadily and see again, Roselyn opened her eyes, blinking owlishly. Alistair wore a boyish and infectious grin. She returned it, kissing him and winding her fingers back into his hair.

“Well, that was...” Alistair thought for a word. “Bracing?”

“You know Teagan is probably wondering where you are?” Roselyn sighed as Alistair cleared strands of her hair stuck to her face away. “Probably thinks you’ve tried to run away or something.”

Alistair chuckled and nuzzled her forehead. “I should go. The Alienage awaits. I’ll just wait until my wife is... recovered?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned again.

Roselyn narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine.” She tried to prove it by climbing off him. Her legs shook a little and she grabbed the table, but shot Alistair a triumphant smirk none-the-less. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“So you are.” Alistair rose to his feet. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him, kissing her soundly again. “Maybe...” he spoke, voice softer and less sure of himself. “Maybe we can continue this?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. "Later?"

“Maybe,” nodded Roselyn. “We’ll see.”

“Alright.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back this evening.” He was gone a few seconds later, leaving Roselyn still catching her breath and leaning on the table.

She stared across at the seats as she recovered, noting where Bann Ceorlic sat during the meeting. She recalled his comments, the sardonic grin she wanted to smack off his round face. It wasn’t enough that she and Alistair brought each other enjoyment and pleasure in other ways; it would never be enough. It wasn’t sex which would result in a baby.

Roselyn realised she was weary, and not just from the moments before with Alistair. She was weary of the palace and of how carefully watched she was. She wanted the gossip to stop. She wanted the looks and the hisses behind hands to end. She was sick of it all, of their talk and their glances. They would never see her as more than a royal baby carrier and her own fears did not matter. She hated to admit it to herself, but waiting until she was ready was no longer an option. The building pressure of the King and his court was going to win, if only to save her own sanity.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we'll leave it there for now! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this part! :B Let me know what you think in the comments below, and hopefully you'll be back for part two in a couple of weeks. <3


	15. Chapter 10: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Alistair visits the Alienage, the severity of the conditions city elves are living in hits home. He manages to convince Shianni of his plans and promises that there will be changes. On his return to the palace, Roselyn seems over eager to continue their earlier activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the conclusion to chapter ten. I hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> \- As always, credit to @razerathane and @bluvixen for being just awesome. <3 [both on tumblr]
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Teen

* * *

 

The Alienage was in a worse state than Alistair imagined. He realised almost as soon as he and Teagan dismounted beyond the gate that there was more work to be done than he first anticipated. Most of the buildings were a shambles: shutters were hanging off of windows, holes dotted the roofs, and doors were hanging off of hinges. A few buildings still looked liveable, but Alistair did not want to imagine what the conditions were like if all the elves were squeezed into the two or three buildings still standing.

The air felt heavier in the Alienage, thick with the stench of dirt and sickness, the streets strewn with rubbish and waste. Some elven urchins rummaged through piles of debris scattered as Alistair and Teagan, flanked by their guards, walked through the narrow paths between buildings. At the centre of it all was the venhadahl around which most elves were congregated. Shianni was in the middle of it all, distributing food and barking orders at other able bodied elves to go and assist with one thing or another. There were two or three elves carrying around packs of supplies;. Alistair assumed they were healers tending to the sick.

None of the elves looked healthy to him. They were lank and underfed, their eyes and cheeks hollow. Their hair was limp, skin and nails caked in dirt. As they watched him walk through the crowd of people around Shianni, Alistair felt an uncomfortable guilt tug at his belly. He should not have lingered with Roselyn. His responsibility was here and seeing these sallow faces made him wonder if his mother would have been in a similar state if she were still alive.

"Teagan," Alistair nudged his uncle. "Can you arrange for some of the excess food to be brought here from the palace?"

Teagan wrote something down on a wax tablet he carried and nodded. "Yes, of course."

Shianni gave the two of them a cursory glance between handing out loaves of bread to waiting hands. She looked thinner to Alistair than the last time he saw her, skin hanging from her bones like a shroud. She was also tired, her eyes hollow with dark circles around them. He wondered when she last slept, last drank or ate. Did she dedicate herself so much to her people that she was willingly wasting away?

"What, shem?" she bit out at him. Her eyes were still fierce, burning intensely into him. "Unless you have any news or something to say then leave."

"I have news," Alistair spoke up. "I've just come from a council meeting. Supplies to begin the rebuilding of the Alienage will arrive soon. I promise."

"Oh really?" Shianni snorted and planted her hands on her narrow hips. "I've  heard promises before. You father spun a pretty lie for me." She reached down into one of the baskets of food and tore a loaf of bread in half, handing the pieces out. "What's to say you won't be the same?"

"I'm here," replied Alistair. "I want to talk to you. I want your and your people's input on how I can help. How the Alienage can be better." Alistair pulled out a couple of scrolls from inside a satchel Teagan carried across his chest. He previously thought they were lost until Roselyn reminded him she took them to protect them from Maric. "I have plans."

"Good for you," Shianni snarled. "Plans. There's always plans. Never any progress. Never any help." She stood as straight as she was able and wiped her hands down the front of her skirt. "Why should I believe anything you have to say?"

She was right of course. She had been led on and let down so many times by his father and by Cailan. She had every right not to believe him and act aggressively toward him. He did not blame her, but Alistair found himself at a loss of what to say. How could he approach her about the improvements he wanted to make? He wanted to make his intentions about helping the elves clear,, but he did not want to appear weak or as though he was ladling her with flattery. Shianni was a woman of straight-forward thinking; flattery was for women in the palace. Plain words were what she needed to hear.

"I need a few minutes of your time," Alistair explained, walking with her as she crossed the square towards the water pump. "Not long. Enough so that we can talk about plans and ideas. I want your opinion."

Water spurted out of the pump and Shianni cupped some in her hands, splashing it on her face and over the back of her neck and up her arms. She drank a little and wiped her mouth with her sleeve when she stood up.

"I've sent for some people to come and help. Fiona, a mage who's going to help with healing your people, and Duncan..." Alistair shifted his weight. "I don't know much about him."

"Duncan?" repeated Shianni, eyes lighting up for a moment, betraying how she recognised the name. She schooled her expression and began to walk again, patting an elf she passed on the shoulder. "Valendrian knew a Duncan."

"It might be the same man," Teagan prompted.

"I'm sure there's more than one man named Duncan in Thedas," Shianni sighed, treating Teagan to a withering gaze. She paused by a door to one of the buildings still intact, her hand hovering over the door handle. She glanced between Alistair and Teagan and down at the scrolls tucked underneath his arm. She heaved the door open and stepped inside. "Might as well see what these plans of yours are then."

Alistair followed her inside and stepped where she stepped. The building was smaller on the inside than it appeared. The first room they walked through was strewn with clothing - Alistair assumed it was waiting to be washed or sorted. Shianni led them down a hallway and into a second room, a sparsely decorated dining room furnished with a small oak table and four chairs. One chair was missing a leg and sat dejected in one corner. There were clay cups out on the table and a jug of something Shianni tipped out of the window to the street below.

Alistair waited until she was sitting. He noticed she breathed hard and mopped her brow of sweat. "You're sick," he pointed out.

"Most of us are," she snorted. "It'll pass like it has before. Only takes the feeble, the elderly, and the young."

Alistair scratched the back of his neck and glanced at Teagan, silently asking for advice. Teagan gave a subtle shake of his head, a sign he did not know how to proceed, so Alistair broached the subject as tactfully as he was able. "How... How many have you--"

"Burned?" Shianni's voice cut like a blade through his words. Eyes trained on him, narrowed and hawk-like as she lifted her chin high and proud. "Enough." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Enough to know the sounds of new mothers crying as they mourn their new babes. Enough to see someone who lost a spouse, or a daughter, or a son or a family member no matter which way I look." She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. "You should know, no matter what you do now, the elves here will never trust you. Or your father."

"I don't expect them to." Alistair sat and unrolled the scrolls so Shianni could see the details of his plan. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for--"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't pretend to be sorry." She glared at him, dark eyes wild, almost feral as they bored into him. "You didn't know them. Don't pretend you mourn them as I have."

Alistair took a long breath, shame creeping along his skin like cold fingers. His sentiment was sincere but he knew how foolish it was to present his remorse now. The deaths could have been prevented if Cailan had done his duty and dealt with the issues of housing months ago. Lives could have been spared if Maric had fulfilled his promise to Valendrian. If Alistair had stepped in sooner he could have helped, somehow.

"What's this?" Shianni asked, pointing at the drawing of the two story building Alistair drew after the visit to the Alienage months before.

"It's a house," he explained, moving on from his clumsy regret. "There are two floors. Here," he pointed, "and here. There's room for two families. The family who live above can access their homes by stairs which circle round here. See?" Shianni followed his fingers as he moved them over the page to the sketched stairwell. "The way I've designed them, they'd be bigger inside than they look. Space enough for two bedrooms at least, a kitchen and a main room to do with as you please. The materials would make them cool in the summer but warm in the winter, a strong against the storms we get."

"You designed this?" Shianni asked him, quirking a brow in disbelief. "And how are we meant to afford these houses? Money isn't exactly flowing in the pockets of city elves." She drummed her fingers on the table. "Even those with jobs only manage to scrape by."

"You and your people wouldn't have to pay a thing." Teagan spoke up. Alistair had turned to Teagan to work out the costs and logistics, to make sure the rebuilding of the Alienage was within the budget of the crown. "The materials come from the King's lands, from his people. They will be supplied from royal mines and mills. Carpenters and builders will be paid by the crown too. With your permission, work can begin with the first shipment of materials."

"We wouldn't have to pay anything?" Shianni repeated leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. "No _coin_ at least. You shems always want something in return. Nothing is free."

Alistair shook his head. "No. I swear, there's no ulterior motive. No payment needs to be made by you or your people." She squinted, looking him up and down. "You don't believe me."

"I've given up believing the words of the crown," she remarked, crossing one leg over the other. Silence grew between the three of them, a pressure weighing down heavier and heavier with each passing second. Shianni's eyes were fixed on the house diagram, her fingers tapping along her arms crossed over her chest. "What of my people?" she asked, cracking the tension.

"What of them?" Inquired Alistair.

"Can you promise they'll be safe while these workers are here?" she demanded. "That the children will be safe? That these workers won't try to _force_ themselves on one of us just because they see us as knife-ears?"

Alistair thought of a quick response. "I'll station guards at the Alienage during the times the workers are here to keep you and yours safe," he explained. He had not considered anything beyond the workers and their job. The idea of them behaving inappropriately because of their station never occurred to him. Now that Shianni brought it up, he realized it was foolish not to think that something like this had happened before. "If anything does happen the one responsible will be dealt with quickly and severely."

"Hm." Shianni shrugged. "I'll believe it when I see it, shem." She sighed and Alistair watched her tighten one of the small ponytails which decorated her hair with thin, shaking fingers. "You're only in charge while your father's gone. What if the work isn't done by the time he returns?"

"That's why I wanted to get started now." Alistair ran his hand over his beard. "And even if the work isn't finished by the time he returns, I will see it to completion, even if I have to finish the work myself."

Shianni snorted. "Have your royal hands ever done a hard day's graft?" she asked him, smirking. "You'd whimper as soon as you got your first splinter. But you're earnest, I give you that." She pushed the scroll with the housing design on it out of the way, revealing the building beneath it. "What's this?"

The building she pointed at was one story and in a hexagonal shape. The notes Alistair wrote beside it were scribbles, details of materials and possible heights and widths required. "It's an idea. Possibly a location for healers to work out of. An infirmary, specifically for your people run by your people with the help of mages."

"Mages?" Shianni's eyes grew wide with alarm. "No. No mages. You can have your Fiona here while there are guards to watch her, but no mage healers are going to be left unattended."

Lifting his hands in a placating manner, Alistair nodded. "No mages. Just healers. Your healers. Elves who can service elves, that way you don't have to rely on human medicines or pay their prices for healing and medicine."

Watching Shianni purse her lips as she drew the tips of her fingers over the pencil sketch, Alistair waited for her response. He felt - hoped - he was getting through to her. That his plans and ideas sounded positive and plausible to her. That he was not just deluding himself. He could not achieve his desires without her on board. She was the key to her people, to getting them on his side. If Maric returned and the city elves were still in turmoil, Alistair was not certain what the outcome for them would be.

"There's..." Shianni began, her voice low. "There was a fire a few years ago. The orphanage has been standing there empty... it's location would be a good place for the infirmary, I think." She glanced at Alistair. "It's central. Near the vhenadahl and it could be a place where healers could teach other generations."

Alistair fought not to grin or allow his excitement to show. As the Prince he needed to retain a certain level of decorum. "That's a good idea," he agreed. "So you like the plans, then?"

"They're better than getting ignored or lied to," Shianni admitted. She lifted her gaze to him, eyes narrowed and tilted her head to one side. She peered at him as if he were a puzzle, like he something she did not understand and was trying to. "Why are you so eager to help us? You're not an elf."

"No." Alistair shook his head and hoped the points of his ears were not wholly obvious to her. "And I want to help because it's high time someone did. The losses you and your people have been forced to endure are losses that never should have happened. I want to rebuild the Alienage into something that will last. Somewhere elves can feel safe, prosper, and grow."

"Yes." Shianni gave an exasperated sigh. "But why?"

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Alistair thought for a response. He could hardly tell her it was because of his parentage. That in some way he felt he should help because he was half elf himself. That was information only a few people knew. He did not need it to spread around the Alienage. "I have my reasons," he answered her finally. "Just leave it at that." His lips quirked into a brief, awkward smile. Shianni watched him as he rose from the table but did not push the matter. "There was one other thing." Alistair began to roll up the scrolls to keep them safe.

"Oh?"

"While the King is gone I have the capacity to appoint you Bann of the Alienage," he explained to her, passing the scrolls to Teagan for safe keeping. "It will allow you to have a say directly on anything that might affect you, the Alienage, or your people."

"Me?" Shianni laughed breathlessly. "A Bann? A noble?"

"It will give you the ability to speak up and be heard." Alistair told her. "You won't need to risk your life to get into the palace and gain an audience by threatening people."

A scowl marred Shianni's expression. "Will I be expected to go to council sessions? Dress up nice?"

"Council sessions are not mandatory, no." Alistair rocked back on his heels. "You don't need to come to them all. If you would prefer, I can have someone inform you when there are issues coming up that may pertain to the Alienage."

"Right..." Crossing  her arms, Shianni leaned back in her chair. "And will this position hold when your father gets back?"

"That..." Rubbing a hand through his hair, Alistair sucked his teeth. "I don't know. If he thinks it a good idea and it proves to be useful, he may instate it permanently but I can't be certain. It will, however, give you some say over the Alienage and your people's welfare in the meantime. It's an opportunity."

"I'd be an idiot to give up an opportunity where I have a say." Getting to her feet, Shianni crossed her arms. "Just to be clear, I don't trust you."

"Why would you?"

"But your intentions _seem_ genuine. You're the first person out of that shite hole to have the interests at others at heart." She slowly offered her hand towards Alistair, fingers held tight together, hand ridged. Alistair tentatively clasped it and they shook once. "Don't fuck us around like your father." She growled.

"I won't." Alistair furrowed his brows. "You have my word. As soon as the materials arrive, I'll be here as often as I can to help."

Dropping his hand, Shianni smirked. "I'll hold you to that, Princeling."

After leaving the Alienage Alistair and Teagan walked around the marketplace, talking to vendors and interacting with the people who loved in the city. Teagan took note of complaints while Alistair got a feel for how the people viewed him and King Maric. The mood was lively. Most people were happy enough with their lives and were without an opinion on Maric one way or the other.

Alistair's power was limited and he would only be in his father's position for a short time. He wanted to do all he could in what little time he had. Perhaps he was taking on more than he should, spreading himself too thin by trying to do too much - it was his first day after all. But he was presented with the opportunity to exercise his reach and the power his father held, to make better the lives of his father's people. He wanted to do a good job, but not just look after Ferelden so it was the same place when his father returned. He wanted to make it better somehow.

Tackling the Alienage was the first step. With Shianni's agreement and the shipments of materials due to arrive by road and by sea, work would begin in a few days. There was so much more he could do and he knew it. Now he had the chance and did not wish to see it slip through his fingers.

As the evening drew near, Teagan suggested eating at the local tavern. Alistair took the oppertunity tospeak to regulars and to travellers to get a feel of how things were outside of Denerim. The food was rich and heavy, the people loud and full of character. Alistair knew the names of seven travelling merchants and discovered how bad he was at the game Wicked Grace as he, Teagan, and their squad of guards ate their fill and returned to the palace.

By the time Alistair and Teagan returned to the palace it was dark. Roselyn was not in their chambers when he arrived so Alistair requested a bath be drawn so he could wash before bed. The water was scalding while he scrubbed the dirt and grime off him, ruffling his hands through his hair while he washed it thoroughly. His body was tired, but his mind alert and awake, excited by all he accomplished and the plans that were laid out. He began to wonder if perhaps he would not destroy his father's realm while it was under his care. There was so much he could do to better the lives of his father's people. Suggestions he could make, ones that Maric might continue after he returned. He knew Teagan would be sending letters to Maric to express what Alistair was doing while he was away. He hoped any replies Maric sent would be favourable.

He was submerged up to his shoulders when he heard the door to the room open and close. He cracked an eye open, squinting between the gaps in the folding screen to see if it was a servant or Roselyn who was in the room.

"Rose!" He called for her, seeing her dress across the floor. A second set of steps followed her, a lady-in-waiting.

"Oh!" she started, "I didn't know you were back."

"I'm having a bath."

"Alright." Roselyn began to move, Alistair could only tell by the sound of her dress on the floor. He heard the rustle of fabric and the sound of the ties of her dress being unlaced. "The Alienage went well."

"Oh? No mob this time?"

"Shianni listened to the ideas I had," he explained growing in enthusiasm. "She's willing to work together to get things built and to improve the Alienage. She seemed a be reluctant at first..."

"Give the promises she's been told, that's hardly surprising."

"True." Alistair grabbed cloth and started to rinse his body of soap. "But by the end of it, I think she realised I genuinely want to help. That I'm not going to go back on my word."

"I'm pleased it went so well," Roselyn replied and Alistair noticed a slight hesitation in her voice which caused him to frown. Clean, he got to his feet, dripping in the tub and grabbed a towel from a nearby table. He started to dry himself, rubbing the towel roughly over his hair. After a few moments of silence the door to their bedchamber closed and he knew it was now just the two of them. "Anora wasn't at supper."

"Oh..."

"I asked at her rooms if I could see her, but I was told she's too sick to see anyone." Alistair could almost hear her biting her lip. "I hope she's alright."

Alistair hoped so too. He hoped her sickness was natural and not caused by any more malicious means. Cailan, for instance, or someone in Cailan's employ trying to get rid of her in time for this union with Orlais to go ahead. _If_ it was going to go ahead. Alistair was almost certain it was. His brother and father would be dining with the Empress of Orlais in a few days time and their talks would lead to Anora no longer being his sister-in-law.

He fought with himself on whether to tell Roselyn or not. He knew how fond she was of Anora. If Anora left court, Roselyn would be heartbroken and lonely. His wife had few friends. Her ladies-in-waiting were people she kept at arm's length at all times and aside from him and Anora, she knew very few people in the palace with whom she was friends. She had acquaintances, but no one she trusted as completely as Anora.

"I'm sure she's fine," Alistair remarked, tying his towel around his waist. He stepped out from behind the screen into the main part of the room. There was a low fire in the hearth opposite the bed making the room feel warmer. "It's probably just a b--" He trailed catching sight of Roselyn's feet on the ground, her long legs bare and out stretched before her. She sat on the edge of their bed in nothing but a flimsy shift which was tied together across her breasts and her small clothes. Alistair's heart leapt into his throat and he felt it beat there for a few seconds while trying to remember how to speak.

She gazed at him, coy and inviting from beneath long lashes, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. "You're sure it's just...?" She prompted conversationally.

Alistair swallowed at the lump in his throat. He felt his blood pooling, his limbs growing warm as his eyes trailed upwards drinking in the sight of his wife before him. Lithe limbs illuminated in the low fire light, eyes reflecting back facets of orange; alluring, inviting. He could not remember what he was saying before, and then he wondered if it was at all important. His feet were rooted to the spot, his legs felt solid as he stared, imprinting the vision before him to his mind. Roselyn got to her feet and Alistair's throat closed over making him struggle for breath. The shift she wore could barely be called even that. It covered her breasts, just, and skimmed her hips where it ended. The material was light, floaty, practically see through and lined with delicate lace on the edges.

"I... uhm..." Alistair gulped, flexing his hands as Roselyn took them in his. She backed up towards the bed and he followed fighting the nervous terror threatening to overwhelm him. "Maker, we're really doing this, aren't we?" he asked her, laughing through the quaver in his voice. He and Roselyn explored each other, pleasured each other in different ways as they grew more comfortable. For all his teasing and bravado earlier in the day, he did not expect for the night to take a turn like this. He wanted to - he wanted her. He was ready, but he convinced himself that Roselyn was not. Now he wondered if he had imagined her trepidation. After all, on the evening they left the palace and were interrupted by Maric she was as eager and as willing as he was. At least it seemed that way.

"Going to do what?" Roselyn asked him shuffling onto the bed until she was on her knees. Her voice was like silk; soft and smooth, a purr to his ears. Soft lips brushed his skin, languid, open-mouthed kisses placed on his collar moving down his chest. Alistair's placed his hands on Roselyn's shoulders, watching her descend lower through vision which was growing hazier by the second. Her hands slid across his waist, fingers tickling across his abdomen making his muscles twitch and jump in response to her touch. His stomach dropped to his feet the lower she roamed. He felt her tongue lap forth where her lips kissed and Roselyn nipped at his flesh with her teeth making him hiss a little at the sharp moment of pain.

As she nuzzled his belly, Alistair wound his hands down her back, following the notches of her spine with his knuckles. He felt Roselyn's fingers tuck underneath the edge of his towel and raced to grab her hands before she pulled it away.

"Rose." A nervous chuckle tumbled from between his lips when. Roselyn lifted her head, eyes swimming and Alistair struggled to look her in the face, and not allow his gaze to be drawn down by the swell of her breasts. "I-- uhm--" He gulped and secured the towel before cupping her face in his hands. "N-not that I'm complaining about this, you look... uh..."

"I look...?" Roselyn inched towards him, biting her bottom lip in the most distracting way possible. She held herself steady with her hands at his waist.

"Yo-you look..." Alistair glanced down at her, he noticed the material of his towel tenting over his erection and cleared his throat deliberately. "Exquisite." He said finally with a low sigh through his nose. "And I like what you're wearing, very much."

"Well, thank you." She grew closer until Alistair could feel her breath on his lips. She stroked his sides and every nerve in his body cried for him to give in and surrender to her soft touches and tempting lips. "Don't you want to get on the bed with me? You can have a closer look."

Biting back a small groan, Alistair closed his eyes for a moment to focus and centre himself. He wanted Roselyn... _Maker's breath_ , he wanted her. Especially with her affectionate gaze and the feathery kisses she pressed to his lips. But he stopped short. Certainty. He needed certainty and the irritating niggle of doubt in his mind did little in allowing him to enjoy the moment.

"Rose," Alistair spoke her name as clear as he was able. "Are you sure about this? I thought you were still a little..."

Her eyes flashed for a moment. Alistair worried he had angered her with his questioning. "We have to do it eventually," she stated, losing the softer, more seductive tone to her voice, making her words seem more like a statement of fact. Something in Alistair's mind blared and his brows dropped into a furrow.

"We 'have to'?" he repeated, puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?" He dropped his hands from around Roselyn's face and stepped back from her. He missed the warmth of her body but would not allow himself to be distracted.

"It means what it means," Roselyn replied, crossing her arms, making her breasts bunch. "We have to. So why not now?"

"I thought we agreed to wait until we were both ready to do this," argued Alistair, growing frustrated.

"We did." Roselyn pushed her fingers back through her hair. "But you don't get stared at every day. You don't get gossiped about all the time. You don't have your measurements taken for dresses and know they're being reported back to Maker knows who so more rumours can circulate! You don't have the stigma of not being pregnant attached to you." Her voice shook with her words but she remained steady and retained a steely calmness despite the fury Alistair could feel flowing off her in waves.

"Is this about what Ceorlic said today?" he inquired, thinking back to the comments made during the council. How Ceorlic's main concern seemed to Roselyn and her lack of being with child. "You said it didn't bother you."

"I lied," snapped Roselyn. "It bothered me. All the comments. All the looks. All the pressure bothers me."

Pushing a hand through his hair, Alistair released a frustrated grunt. He marched to a dresser and grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt. The trousers he pulled on underneath his towel and then dropped that to the floor. The shirt he tangled up in a ball while trying to unfold it. "Why didn't you say something?" he rounded on her, trying not to let his irritation flare but failing.

"Because I didn't want to let them," Roselyn jerked her head at the door, "win. I didn't want to admit to myself how much it annoyed me." She sighed and sat cross-legged on the covers her shoulders slumping. Alistair handed her his shirt and watched as she pulled it over her head. "It was funny at first, the gossip and how stupid it all was. But the things they're saying are getting malicious now. We've been married two months and they're getting impatient."

"Who cares?"

"I do!" Her nostrils flared on a long inhalation and she stared down at her fingers. "I'm tasked with one thing, and that's to have children. That's my job. My lofty lot in life." She snorted. "And right now, I have yet to even consummate my marriage because I'm terrified. If you had just been some horrible, nasty, little troll this would be so much easier." She threw her hands down into her lap, slapping her thighs. "But you're not. You're kind, and gentle, and you never push. You never press me."

"So it's my fault?" Alistair pointed at himself, mouth dropping open.

"No!" Roselyn huffed, blowing hair out of her face. "No, it's not your fault. No one is at fault." As she pushed her face into her hands groaning, Alistair scratched the back of his neck glancing around the room.

Confused did not even begin to cover how he felt, but it was a good start. He understood, at least a little, Roselyn's point of view. She was frustrated with being talked about, with the pressures being unfairly put upon her. She was angry with the people who talked about her and gossiped. Part of him thought she was angry with herself too. He pursed his lips as he went and sat beside her, teasing one of her hands from where it covered her face. He saw Roselyn watching him while he unfurled each of her fingers in turn and kissed each tip.

"I wish you'd said something sooner," he muttered.

"Why?" Roselyn sighed. "It's not like you could say anything. You can't order them to stop gossiping and pointing. They'll talk all they want."

"True," he agreed. There was no point arguing with her because she was right. The people of the court would always find something to gossip about. Asking them not to would only make it more appealing to talk about. "But you could have told me anyway. I could have talked to you about it, maybe then you wouldn't be so terrified. Or angry."

"I'm sorry." Roselyn leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm not very good at this learning to communicate bit yet. I was always told by my mother that a woman never complains. She smiles and bears the brunt of the world's ills."

"Well, that's just moronic." Alistair rolled his eyes. Eleanor Cousland had a lot to answer for. "You're more than entitled to complain. In fact when you _are_ pregnant, I want you to complain." He kissed her palm and the inside of her wrist, smiling against her skin when he felt her pulse grow quicker beneath his lips. "In the mean time - we move at the pace we're comfortable at. Never mind the court and what people say. If you hear gossip tell me and I'll go to the people directly and make them stop."

"But-"

"No buts." His tone was playful but there was an edge of severity to his voice. Turning to face her, Alistair tucked his fingers beneath Roselyn's chin and lifted her head. "I know the gossip is hard to hear, and I'm sorry. I wish I could make it stop for you." He kissed her forehead, thinking and considering his words before he spoke them. "And while I love you, I'm not going to go through with this until we're both ready. No matter what you're wearing or... uhm, not wearing."

Roselyn chuckled, mouth quirking at the corner. "Did you like it at least? It was a last minute wedding gift from one of my mother's friend's daughter's. She lives in Orlais. Apparently it's the latest thing."

"I bet." Alistair laughed. "And it _is_ lovely, don't misunderstand me. Perhaps you could save it for another occasion?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," teased Roselyn, a coquettish grin slipped across her lips as she leaned her head back. "I thought it a one use garment-"

"Rose."

"And now you've seen it, it rather ruins th--"

"Wife." Alistair grasped her chin, grinning as he pressed a kiss to her mouth to silence her. Roselyn giggled, bring her hands up to cup his face.

"Husband?" She replied, feigning a serious expression.

Alistair kissed her again, smiling at the soft appreciative murmur that rose from her throat. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"You might have said so."

"You believe me?"

"Mhm-hm."

He kissed her one more time and pressed his forehead to hers. "Good. Whatever is happening around us, don't ever doubt it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep teasing. I must be frustrating. But the next chapter... you're going to want to read it. I promise. It's a doozy. For multiple reasons. :B
> 
> Thanks for reading, I really do hope you enjoyed the conclusion to chapter ten. Let me know what you think in the comments below. <3


	16. Chapter 11: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the months that Cailan and Maric have been gone Alistair has flourished while Roselyn feels like she has floundered. Roselyn is finally able to see Anora after months of her being unwell and confined for her health, but there are some things that Anora imparts to Roselyn which cause her to doubt and worry. Luckily, Alistair is on hand to allay her fears as best he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to upload the first half of chapter 11 earlier than I intended. For the sole reason that I really like it. So there. I hope you enjoy it. And it is satisfying.
> 
> \- Chapter rating - Mature [nsfw]
> 
> \- As always lots of love to my betas, razerathane (tumblr) and bluvixen (also on tumblr).

* * *

 

_Two months later.  
Month: End of Harvestmere_

_\--_

The first supplies for the rebuilding of the Alienage arrived two days after Alistair's first meeting with Shianni. They were delivered and set aside until more materials came so work could begin in earnest. Labourers came to the Denerim in droves and rented out the tavern under the crown's name all within spitting distance of the Alienage. Alistair greeted each of them in turn when he ventured into the city with Teagan and sometimes with Roselyn to see how their moods were. He learned of their experience and specialities, and made a point of appointing a foreman to oversee the reconstruction. He also made a point of introducing as many of the workers to Shianni as possible.

Common people were becoming more and more entranced by their Prince and temporary ruler. The man who was often in the background of events came to the forefront and not only proved he was one of the people, but that he wanted what was best. He cared for them and sympathised with their concerns or their complaints. He visited the city more in one week than Maric did in a year and Roselyn could see that the people were  starting to love him for it. Until now, Alistair was always pushed to the side, shunned by the larger presence of Cailan and Maric. The only people to know Alistair's goodwill were the farmers and those who worked the land around the palace. His care and attentiveness was appreciated and even when he could not help, he showed compassion and sincerity in how he dealt with an issue.

Roselyn was proud of him. Not just because he was a good Prince but because he was showing them all that underneath all the finery and title he was a good man.

After a week there were enough materials to begin work on the Alienage. Alistair's appointed foreman, Hector, drew up plans for what needed to be done both for new buildings and repairs. More buildings could be salvaged than Alistair first anticipated which was a surprise to everyone, Shianni included, and the elves had cleared space in the Alienage for debris to accumulate. Alistair also asked for additional food to be delivered which proved useful after a week since many of the elves did not look quite as starved as they had on his earlier visit.

The day building work was due to start, Maric's friends, Duncan and Fiona, arrived at the palace with as little fuss and ceremony as possible. Teagan introduced them to Alistair and to Roselyn as they were making themselves ready to go riding. They gave themselves an hour away from the palace, a luxury not afforded to them with Alistair in charge and his attentions so divided.

Duncan was a tall man, a dark-skinned - of Rivaini descent - and around the same age as Maric. Both his beard and hair were peppered with white and his face showed lines of wear and age. He arrived armoured, carrying a sword and smaller dagger along with his pack. Fiona was dark-skinned as well, her features delicate - characteristic of an elf - with short black hair and pale green eyes. She was small, diminutive beside Duncan and Alistair, and only spoke when Alistair addressed her directly. Roselyn noticed how Fiona tried, with some difficulty, not to stare at Alistair. She struggled to keep her eyes down but each time she looked it was as if she was seeing someone she knew and was trying to place.

Greetings were short but pleasant and Teagan showed them to the guest wing where they would be staying while Alistair and Roselyn went for their ride. Fiona and Duncan joined them in the Alienage the following day. Duncan commented on how impressed he was with the speed Alistair had arranged everything. He spoke to Shianni and they both talked about Valendrian. Fiona, in her mage robes, was given a wide berth until Shianni affirmed to her people that she was there to help. After that, Fiona grew invested in helping those still suffering with sickness and assisted the few natural healers the Alienage had with her magic.  
  
A month later, Maric wrote for the first time in response to Teagan's updates. He was full of praise for the Orlesian court and for the Empress. He detailed what he and Cailan were up to and how discussions of the treaties were progressing. He wrote how he was interested to hear of Alistair's plans and the progress he was making. He was pleased to know Ferelden had not fallen apart under Alistair's care and gave a vague date of when they would be returning - a month hence. He concluded by saying he would write again if time allowed.

Work on the Alienage continued steadily. Buildings were torn down, their foundations reinforced, and new houses were erected every few days. Alistair disappeared to the Alienage after the daily council meetings. He was growing in confidence and asserting himself more appropriately; something he had to do now that more and more of Maric's councillors had returned and were full of things to say. New problems, new disputes, more issues that needed Alistair's attention. Duncan became a regular face on the council at Alistair's request, the two of them forming a friendship over long discussions about Ferelden, Duncan's travels, and Maric in his youth.

While Alistair thrived, Roselyn felt herself floundering. She was not wholly needed on the council, though she attended the meetings if only to hear what was being said. When she visited the Alienage with Alistair she was at a loss of what to do. The elves did not know how to look at her or treat her, and they either shied away from her or ignored her when she was there. She did not have the skills of a healer or magic, but tried to help in what little ways she was able with the healers and with Fiona.

Anora was still unwell, her sickness drawing on for weeks. Roselyn was excluded from her rooms and the only contact with Anora she had was through notes exchanged through one of Anora's maids. Her worry was overwhelming and she suggested several times to Alistair that he write to his father and Cailan to inform them or bring in physicians from further afield.

She was lonely and eventually stopped going to the Alienage with Alistair because she felt she was more in the way than remotely helpful. Her husband was distracted and drawn away by his duties and her only other friend in the court she was not allowed to see. The councillors ignored her for the most part, unless it was to ask her opinion on something - which was rare. Roselyn was spending more and more time alone, or in the company of Roo than she was with other people and yet could not bring herself to complain.

Anora's illness was not her fault and she knew she would not be kept in quarantine without good reason. Alistair was busy and blooming without Maric or Cailan to quash him. The pride she felt when he returned to the palace and told her all that had been accomplished that day far overrode her own paltry melancholy. She walked the gardens with Roo on a daily basis and rode with a small group of guards for her protection each day. Her solitude afforded her time to read and to resume practicing her archery but she could feel herself growing more distant even as she tried to fight it.

Few people in the palace outside of her ladies-in-waiting spoke to her and conversations were cordial but vague; discussions about the palace, Maric, and the weather were not riveting conversation. Alistair's growing absence was causing new vicious rumours to spread. One of the most popular ones was that he had an elven mistress and fathered an elf bastard whom he was spending time with. Another was that Roselyn was like Anora, barren and _'unsatisfactory'._ Alistair finding his pleasure with Shianni was Roselyn's personal favourite. If the court knew Shianni beyond her stunt at the masque, they would know she viewed all humans with disdain - Alistair included.

Roselyn wrote home to Fergus and her mother. She asked after Highever, after Frances and Oren, and her parents’ health. She tried to make her words sound happy and as though she were contented - which she was for the most part. Alistair was not unkind to her or inattentive, she was simply suffering from having little to do and having no part in the goings on around her. She hoped, when she asked after possible visits, that she did not sound too desperate in her need for interaction and familiarity.

On the day before Maric and Cailan were due to arrive back in Ferelden, just over two months since they left, Roselyn heard the first word of Anora being up and moving that she had in weeks. It was late afternoon, Alistair was gone from the palace with Teagan and Duncan as far as Roselyn knew. All Roselyn heard of Anora was a passing comment from one of the servants as she was walking towards the library. She immediately changed her intended destination and fought not to run through the palace corridors to Anora's rooms. She walked with a quick pace and her head down, giving the intention to anyone who might have wanted to speak to her that she was busy. She remained undisturbed arrived at Anora's door breathless.

The door to the main chamber was wide open and inside was a flurry of activity. Trunks were open and Anora's ladies-in-waiting were rushing from room to room with dresses, shoes and other items of clothing readying them for packing. Anora's head lady, an elven woman named Erlina, barked orders in a thick Orlesian accent. Anora sat subdued at the back of the presence chamber in the window seat. Even from a distance, Roselyn could see she was looking thinner in her face and pale. Whatever her illness was, she appaeared to either be still suffering from it or only just beginning to recover.

Roselyn knocked as loud as she dared and the movement in Anora's room stopped suddenly. Erlina stared at her coldly and glanced between Anora and Roselyn until Anora gave a simple nod of her head in Roselyn's direction. She entered and crossed the room as packing resumed.

Anora's dress swamped her and she sat up as straight as she was able using a cushion for support against the frame around the window. Roselyn sat opposite her and said nothing for a few moments, using the time to examine Anora's face. Her eyes were sunken, but still bright and intelligent. Her skin seemed almost grey and waxy. Her hair seemed to have lost some of its colour too and under her gown she looked almost frail.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you," Anora began, smiling a little.

Roselyn shook her head vehemently. "Don't apologise. You've been unwell."

"Yes..." Anora arched her brows, "that's putting it mildly."

"Do you know what it is? Are you better now?"

"It's... complicated," Anora explained. "But I think the worst of it is over. Things should be a little easier now." She lifted her eyes skywards. "Maker willing."

Anora's words left Roselyn a little confused as they often did. Her illness had not diminished Anora's ability to be coy about things or enigmatic in her words. She spoke only the information she felt was necessary to the conversation and nothing more. Though Roselyn's confusion was more replaced with relief that Anora was up and moving, that they were speaking.

"How are you and Alistair managing with the running of Ferelden?" Anora asked her, taking Roselyn's hands in hers. Her skin was cool and a little clammy. "As I understand it the Alienage is halfway to being rebuilt and the court is surprised by how well he has stepped into his father's shoes."

"Alistair is doing most of the work. It keeps him very busy," Roselyn explained, fighting to keep the whine out of her voice. This was her first time seeing Anora in weeks, she would not monopolise the conversation or complain about things. "I'm just there for support. But the Alienage is going well, there have been no incidents or injuries that I know of. And the illness which was lingering has all but disappeared. Under the guidance of Maric's mage friend Fiona, the healers know how to combat it now before it talked hold if it comes back."

"I'm glad to hear things are progressing so smoothly. I can only hope they continue to do so once Maric and Cailan are back," Anora gave a low sigh, removing her hands from Roselyn's and placing them in her lap. "I have no doubt things will be changing on their return."

A pregnant pause developed between the two of them. Anora staring out of the window down at the court yard while Roselyn watched Erlina order the other women around while they packed away Anora's things in the different trunks open around her room. She saw summer dresses being folded neatly and thin paper placed between the folds to keep the fabric neat. Winter dresses were being packed too, giving Roselyn a terrible cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Anora..." Roselyn murmured her name, eyes not leaving the dark samite dress lined with fox fur in Erlina's hands. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" asked Anora, sweeping a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Why... are all your clothes being packed away?" inquired Roselyn her words dragging as she spoke them. "Are you moving rooms?" Her voice was hopeful. She did not want to consider the possibility of Anora leaving the palace.

Anora's lips curved into a soft, almost sad smile making her eyes crinkle at the edges. She circled her hands around Roselyn's face, brushing the thumbs across her cheeks. "I'm going back to Gwaren," she explained, keeping her eyes on Roselyn's. "When Maric and Cailan return, things will change and not in a good way for myself. I need to go to my home where I can keep myself safe."

"Are you in danger?" Roselyn's words shook and a tingle began to sting behind her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Why do you think Maric and Cailan went to Orlais?"

"They said it was to renew treaties," sniffled Roselyn, her voice beginning to crack. She did not want to cry, she did not want to weep in front of Anora or her ladies or show any form of weakness. She breathed in deep to settle the threat of tears and gulped. "But I started to think there was more to it. That maybe Maric was going to marry Celene to unite Ferelden and Orlais more securely."

"Maric?" A soft chuckle tumbled from between Anora's lips. "That is so innocent of you," she smiled. Roselyn frowned a little, uncertain if she meant the words as a compliment or not. Either Anora did not notice or ignored the mild furrow of Roselyn's brow because she continued, placing her hands neatly in her lap. "It was for Cailan."

"Cailan?" repeated Roselyn. "Why for C..." She trailed, staring at Anora. Something, a switch, in her mind flicked and she wondered how she could have been so blind... So stupid and naive. Of course Maric wouldn't marry again, especially not Celene. He would lose the favour of his people and he was old enough to be her father. No, not Maric. Cailan. "Cailan and Celene?" Roselyn choked out.

"Cailan and Celene," Anora said severely, nodding her head. Her voice dropped to an almost conspiratorial whisper. "I have no doubt that the treaties are being discussed too but they were used as a smoke screen for the most part. The intention of their visit to Orlais is for a contract to be written up for Cailan and Celene to marry."

"But... but he can't. He's married to you!" Roselyn declared helplessly her growing shrill. "He can't marry Celene when he's married already!" Her voice was cracking. Not only was Anora leaving but she might lose her entirely if Cailan married the Empress. She did not want to imagine that. The palace was bad enough as it was, only Alistair and Anora made it bearable. If Anora left, Roselyn would be more alone than she was already.

There was also the personal anguish she felt for Anora. A woman who was promised so much by a vain and ignorant Prince, only to be pushed aside over and over again. A woman who handled the regular insults to her person by her husband with grace and poise, who never raised her voice or protested. Who was gracious and calm in the face of criticism and harshness, and harmed no one. She was to be swept away, abandoned for something which was no fault of her own.

"I imagine while writing up one contract there have been lawyers looking for ways to dissolve or annul our marriage," Anora shifted in the window seat. Roselyn got to her feet and helped to adjust the cushion behind her: both for Anora's comfort and so she had the opportunity to compose herself. She sniffled weakly, swallowing back the threat of tears. One escaped her eye, dripping onto the shoulder of Anora's dress. Roselyn tried to wipe it away and held Anora's shoulder.

"How can they annul your marriage?" Roselyn asked, gulping down mouthfuls of air and staring out of the window. "You haven't done anything."

"Doesn't matter," Anora's cool hand wrapped around Roselyn's. "They find some clause or they'll make up a lie so convoluted they'll think I can't defend myself or prove them wrong." The snarl in Anora's voice made Roselyn feel a momentary swell of joy.

"You plan to fight it," she sat back down opposite Anora smiling hopefully.

"I do," Anora smiled slowly. "I haven't suffered Cailan's negligence and insults for five years only to give up peacefully at the first struggle."

Roselyn moved closer and wiped her sleeve beneath her eyes. Of course Anora would fight it. Anora was strong and sure of herself. If anyone could fight some idiotic and selfish plot to remove her then it was Anora. "What are you going to do? Why do you have to go to Gwaren to do it?"

"My father is in Gwaren," Anora told her patiently. "If I am still at the palace when Cailan and Maric return they can begin proceeding against me quickly. By returning to Gwaren, I scupper their plans somewhat. They will have to call me from Gwaren, a summons I can and will refuse. Plus, my father is Maric's oldest friend - he would not have his crown if it wasn't for him. That friendship is precious to them both and acts as another barrier between their plan and me." She paused, sighing long and slow through her nose as if telling herself that her plan would work. "If anyone can convince Maric to give up this foolish notion my father can."

Nodding, Roselyn smoothed her hands across the skirts of her dress, "That makes sense."

"And there are a few personal reasons for me returning to Gwaren," continued Anora, mouth curving into a soft smile. "It will be a good place for me to recover from my illness. Safe from gossip and prying eyes. It will be peaceful." She sighed again, gazing out of the window with a faraway glaze to her eyes. "I haven't been home in a long time."

"Do you have time for a walk? Or the energy?" Roselyn inquired gently, wanting to make the most of what time she might have with Anora before she left.

"My lady," Erlina bobbed into a curtsey interjecting before Anora could reply. "The carriage is ready."

"Carriage?" Roselyn's eyes widened. "You're leaving? Now? What about these trunks?" She gestured to the four or five open boxes still being packed.

"To be sent on tomorrow or the day after. Everything important has been packed already." Anora used the wall for support as she got to her feet. Erlina wound an arm around her waist to help keep her steady on her feet. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner. I needed to protect myself."

Roselyn forced herself to smile, to push the upset she felt at losing a friend as far down into the pit of her stomach as she was able. "No need to apologise," she assured her. "At least let me see you off."

"Of course," Anora nodded her assent and Roselyn looped her arm through Anora's.

Erlina walked ahead of them as they made their way through the palace from Anora's rooms. A handful of courtiers paused in the middle of conversation when they saw the three of them but none of them asked questions or inquired after Anora's health. Their progress was slow. Anora was forced to pause every few minutes to support herself on the wall. Roselyn noticed she kept holding her stomach as if she was about to be sick and sent Erlina ahead to make sure there was a skin of water to drink from when they reached the palace steps and the carriage.

In the courtyard a carriage waited by the steps with two horses harnessed to it and trunks lashed to the roof. A groom was waiting, holding the door open ready for Anora and two of Anora's ladies were already sitting in the carriage waiting for her.

After Anora drank, Erlina went to speak to the groom and check that the trunks were fastened securely. Anora leaned on the stone wall on the steps, almost shaking under the effort it took her to walk from her rooms and to stay upright.

"Get in the carriage," Roselyn told her. "You can barely stand."

"I'm still recovering." Anora managed a weak smile. "You see why I need to go to Gwaren then? I can recover in privacy, though the sycophants here will say I am running."

"Forget them," Roselyn bit out. "They don't know anything. You know the truth, so do I. That's all that matters."

Anora's smiled widened and became a little stronger. She pushed off from the wall to stand on her own. Roselyn was amazed that Anora was somehow able to still look composed and regal even as she was perspiring and trembling from head to foot.

Taking Roselyn's hands, Anora gave them a gentle squeeze with her long fingers. "Don't let anyone bully you," she said firmly. "Remember, you're a Princess. You deserve to be treated like one."

"I'll be fine," Roselyn rebuffed, forcing her voice to remain steady and fighting the sharp prickling sensation behind her eyes. "It's you I'm worried for." She meant that. Anora's poor health was a concern. She hoped the journey would not be too much for her. "Will you write to me? While you're away?"

Anora tilted her head to one side, "If I can. I'm going to be busy."

"Of course," chuckled Roselyn. "But if you get the time..."

"I'll try," Anora lifted one hand to Roselyn's face and stroked her cheek. "Don't worry, I won't be away forever." She assured her, as if reading Roselyn's mind.

"I know," Roselyn gave a pathetic laugh and sniffed feebly. "But it feels like you're leaving for good." Tears welling up in her eyes trickled down her face and she wiped them away as swiftly as she was able. Her chin trembled and she tried to bite away the sensation, gritting her teeth painfully together.

"I _will_ be back," Anora stated, her words so fierce Roselyn almost believed her. She wanted to believe her, that she would be back at the palace in no time and things would be better. "You have my word on that. And when I return, things here will change." Her pale lips curved into a sly smile. "For everyone."

Uncertain how to answer, Roselyn was given no time. Erlina came to Anora's side and advised her that everything was ready. Anora gave Roselyn a brief hug before climbing into the carriage followed by Erlina.

Roselyn watched from the steps as Anora's carriage drove away, a trail of dust and debris rising under the hooves of the horses and the wheels. She watched it leave the gates and stared until it out of view, remaining stationary on the steps staring off at the horizon where it had disappeared. She stomach felt heavy and leaden, her feet cold, like her limbs were encased in ice. Bile threatened to rise in her throat at the departure of one of her only two allies in the palace, a threat Roselyn made herself swallow.

Tears flowed freely down her face as she turned and walked back into the palace, uncertain where to go or what to do. She mopped her cheeks, turning her eyes down so she stared at her feet while she walked. She did not want courtiers to see her tears. More gossip would arise and that was something she did not want to think on at that moment. Roselyn walked without really thinking or seeing where she was going. She climbed the stairs up to the second floor. Every step was a struggle, like she was to pry her feet off the ground with each one. Her mind was swirling with everything that had transpired between her and Anora.

The thought that Maric would dissolve her marriage to Cailan was terrifying....that he had such power. But of course he did. He was the King; he could do what he liked, regardless of whether it was lawful or not. Anora was to be set aside in favour of a new bride, most likely due to her inability to produce children - an issue born of Cailan's wandering eye. Roselyn could not fathom how Anora must have felt when she realised, how she felt now journeying to Gwaren to arrange her defence and seek the advice of her father. How she managed to remain calm and steady, to not fly off the handle or grow enraged, was something Roselyn admired her for. Her control was astounding and Roselyn did not think she would have been so serene in the face of such a plot.

Her mind wandered to her own situation; a selfish thought considering it was her friend who was in turmoil, but a thought Roselyn could not shake. Would she be Anora in a year's time if she was not pregnant within a time Maric considered viable? He was not growing any younger, and was desperate for grandchildren to secure the Theirin line. If she did not prove to be fertile or able to bear children at all, would the same happen? Would she be put aside in favour of a different match? Perhaps in the guise of an alliance with Antiva or Nevarra? Would she find herself friendless, defenceless and faced with allegations she did not have the guile to out match or out manoeuvre? Would Alistair grow weary of her and seek his pleasure elsewhere?

What would her life become if she failed and faded into pariah-hood? Her parents would never welcome her back with the shame of a dissolved marriage on her name. She would be considered spoiled goods. There would be no good possible matches for her. She would become a spinster by twenty-five and die an outcast of her family and her Kingdom.

With her thoughts consuming her, Roselyn gasped when she stumbled into the broad back of someone. She recoiled, mumbling an apology while fighting to wipe her face and eyes to make it look like she was not crying, now had she been.

"Princess." Duncan's low timbre greeted her and he bowed at the waist politely. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming."

"It's fine," Roselyn's voice caught in her throat. She could not bring herself to lift her gaze for more than a moment. "I wasn't looking where I was going." Coughing a little she realised it was Duncan she was speaking to. "You're back from the Alienage," she blurted out.

"Yes..." Duncan replied slowly. He stepped towards her and Roselyn retreated. She had not realised how _tall_ he was. He towered over her, he must have been taller than Maric, Alistair, and Cailan. "Are you quite alright?" he asked, his voice matching the kind, concerned expression on his face. "You seem... distressed."

"You're very polite," Roselyn's mouth quirked at one corner. "I'm fine. Thank you, Duncan." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Is Alist-- I mean, his Highness, back?"

"Yes. I was on my way to speak to him now if you would like to accompany me?" He gestured down the hall towards his quarters. Roselyn realised suddenly she had taken a wrong turn somewhere and ventured to the guest wing of the palace, not towards the royal apartments.

The offer to see Alistair had her in two minds. On the one hand she wanted to see him. To fling herself at him and cry until she was finished. To unburden herself on him. On the other, she did not wish to make a scene, or make him uncomfortable with her uncharacteristic tears and weakness. She did and did not want to talk to him about Anora and her gut coiled uncomfortably, tearing her between fleeing and remaining.

Her cowardice won out. "Uhm, no. Thank you." She bobbed into a curtsey, dropping her eyes and fighting the threat of tears once more. "I don't want to bother him. I'm sorry for disturbing you." She turned on her heel and began to retrace her steps. Duncan called something after her which she did not hear.

Roselyn's heart was pounding, deafening her to the sounds of the palace. People spoke to her, called her name and she ignored each of them. Her chest grew tight, constricting her lungs making them burn with each breath she tried to take. Grabbing her skirts in both hands she broke into a run not caring who saw. If she was going to break down she would do it in private out of the eyes of everyone.

When she reached her and Alistair's rooms she was breathless, panting, and flushed, her eyes stinging with the salt of her tears. She slammed the doors closed behind her and marched through to their shared bed chamber. Roo followed her through and climbed onto the bed with her when Roselyn all but threw herself down onto the covers, burying her face into a pillow. She felt foolish, like she was being overdramatic. Anora would be back, she promised she would be. More than that, she would prevail and Roselyn's over-reaction would seem like a tantrum. Still, she could not quell her anxiety that seeing her off in the carriage was the last time she would see Anora.

Climbing off the bed, she crossed the room to the window seat and sat, peering down through the glass at nothing. Roo came and sat with her, perching her head on Roselyn's leg and whining at her. Roselyn was not certain how long she sat there. It could have been five seconds, it could have been five hours. She was lost in her own thoughts, snapped from them only when the bedroom door crashed back against the wall and Alistair rushed in.

"There you are!" He declared almost shouting as he crossed the room in large strides. He was dishevelled and breathing hard like he had run from the other end of the palace. Ushering Roo to one side he dropped to his knees before of her. "Duncan said you were crying." He lifted his hands, cupping her face and ran his thumbs beneath her eyes. Roselyn offered a weak smile, hiccupping. Her skin felt like it was burning in his palms and she could hardly breathe for the tightness in her chest. Alistair got to his feet and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he sat in the vacant spot beside her. "What's the matter?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing. I'm being stupid."

"Rose..." A low sigh pushed past his lips and he pressed his forehead to hers. "Please?"

"Anora's gone," Roselyn blurted out.

"Anora's..." Alistair looked at her, brows furrowing. "What?"

"She's gone. To Gwaren," Roselyn told him, her words disjointed. "Cailan and Maric are coming back, and she's gone home to prepare her defence."

"D-defence?" Alistair took hold of her hands, his expression growing puzzled. "What defence?"

"Did you know that Maric and Cailan's reason for going to Orlais was to orchestrate a marriage between the Empress and Cailan?" demanded Roselyn. Her voice was angrier than she meant it to be and she stared Alistair in the eye as she awaited his response. She watched him as he dropped his gaze and swallowed thickly making the Adam's apple in his throat bob. His silence was telling and she yanked her hands away from him getting to her feet in a rush. " _YOU KNEW_!" she shouted, rounding on him furiously. "You knew that was their plan all along!"

"No. I didn't know," he lifted his hands to placate her but remained seated. "I had my suspicions--"

"Then--"

"But nothing certain!" he interrupted. "I had no proof. Just my own assumptions."

Roselyn frowned. Her skin felt tight as she fought to retain control of herself. She did not want to cry again. She had cried enough but the threat of new tears was there and she gulped down hard on the urge to give in. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Alistair stood up straight but remained by the window. "What could I have told you?" he asked her, his voice soft and calm, in the effort to settle her. "I didn't know anything. And I didn't want to say anything in case I was wrong because I know how much you love Anora."

Gritting her teeth, Roselyn's expression crumbled as did her resolve. She smothered her face in her hands her shoulders trembling and a moment later felt Alistair's arms around her, keeping her steady. She pressed her forehead against his jerkin and tried to mute her voice as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," he said from above her, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "I should have. I didn't think..."

"I didn't want her to leave." Roselyn explained through sharp breaths. "I don't want to be alone here."

"Alone?" repeated Alistair tucking the fingers of one hand beneath her chin and coaxing her head to rise. Roselyn rubbed her face on her tear stained sleeve. "You're not alone. I'm here."

"But you're busy all the time," she replied weakly. "With the Alienage and when they get back you'll still be busy." Swallowing she spoke in a rush and kept her voice as clear as possible. "And I don't resent that, please don't think that I do. I'm so proud of you for all the good you're doing. But I'm not necessary, I'm just in the way at council meetings... And I'm lonely. Without Anora I'll be lonelier. But I don't want to complain." Alistair brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, listening patiently as her words fell from her lips.

"With Anora leaving and her reasons, I'm stuck thinking that the same will happen to me. That because I'm not pregnant now Maric is back or-or if it it turns out I can't have children I'll be put aside and you'll marry some fertile Princess from Antiva for an alliance." Her words came faster, making her breathless as she confessed the fears churning around her mind. "And the thought of that hurts like I'm breaking in two, because I love you, you're the only good thing about this place and I don't want to face a life without you. And..." she paused for a moment breathing hard. "Why are you smiling?! I'm being serious!"

"Do you realise what you just said?" asked Alistair, beaming.

She shook her head, "No."

"You said you love me," he told her, voice growing deeper as he struggled to contain his emotion. "Rose, you said you love me."

She blinked owlishly, taking a deep inhalation through her nose. The words she was so frightened to say just tumbled out of her mouth. No ceremony, no great declaration. Just words amidst a jumbled, frightened ramble. Warmth began to seep up Roselyn's limbs beginning at her fingers. Her heart grew heavier in her chest as she stepped closer to Alistair.

"Well, I do." Her voice cracked with the weight of the truth. "I love you."

If possible, Alistair's smile grew. The tips of his pointed ears and his cheeks were pink, eyes shining as he closed the space between them sliding his hands around Roselyn's waist and bringing her body in connection with his. Roselyn saw him drop his head before his lips crashed into hers. His kiss was bold, hungry, she tasted him as the tip of his tongue tickled across her bottom lip.

Mouth opening a fraction she relinquished to the press of his fingers, digging into her back winding through the laces of her bodice and the tangled rings of her hair. She curled her fingers into the dark leather of his jerkin, arching into his touch. Her mind swam not with her fears or her worries, but with him. His smell, the steadiness of his hands, and the weight of his kiss filling her head. Roselyn's body felt lighter, whether it was due to her off loading or because she no longer carried her feelings inside like a terrible secret she didn't know, nor did she care; not when he kissed her in such a way.

"Alistair," she sighed when he briefly pulled away from her.

"Say it again," he pleaded. His eyes were closed, his voice hoarse and he pressed their foreheads together. "Please."

Smiling, Roselyn pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, "I love you."

Alistair gave a satisfied hum almost swaying on the spot, "It sounds so good when you say it." He grinned and his lips grazed the space between Roselyn's brows. "About the things you said--"

"You don't have to--"

"I want to allay your fears. If I can," he spoke with such sincerity that Roselyn felt her stomach clench. "I know I've been busy. I want to do a good job on the Alienage, and I'm sorry if I've neglected you because of it." She opened her mouth to protest, but Alistair placed a finger on her lips. "Once the King and Cailan are back I promise we'll spend more time together again. I won't need to spend as much time in council meetings - where you _aren't_ in the way." His lips brushed over her forehead. "I'm sorry you've been lonely. If I'd known, I would have..." He took one of her hands in his, lifting it to kiss her knuckles. "I'm sorry, I never even considered that I was... I hate knowing you've been lonely."

"It's not your fault."

A crease developed between Alistair's brows, scrunching together as though he was in pain. Roselyn smoothed her thumb over the wrinkles, meeting his gaze when he lifted his eyes to hers. "As for Anora," he sighed. "There's nothing I can do. I disagree with what my father and Cailan are doing but I am powerless to do anything about it. I _can_ promise that I would never, _ever_ allow them to do the same to us."

"Alistair..." Roselyn shifted on her feet. There was a heat behind his words, an earnest ferocity which she had never heard before.

"Listen to me," he curved one hand around her face, his thumb stroking along her jaw. "I would sooner give up the palace, my title, _everything_ , than have our marriage threatened or see you cast adrift in favour of some stupid alliance." He breathed deep, his breath wafting over Roselyn's face. She watched him consider and measure his words before speaking them. "I didn't imagine I could feel like this about someone I was arranged to marry, but it turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to me."

"I feel the same way," Roselyn's voice shook when she spoke and she could not understand why. Her heart fluttered in her chest, she could feel its steady thumping vibrating in her throat.

"I love you," Alistair stated, without flourish, without garlands, or honeyed phrases around it; and it was still the most wonderful thing Roselyn thought he could say to her. "I never wanted anyone before you and I will never want anyone else..."

Roselyn inched closer to Alistair, the beat of her heart growing steadily quicker and loud, like the thunder of horse hooves. "Alistair," she murmured watching him struggle to find the words he wanted to articulate. His hands returned to her waist drifting over the material of her bodice.

"I know I'm a fool, that I'm inarticulate and say the wrong thing all the time," he continued, eyes flitting from place to place as he stumbled and stuttered. "You're better than I deserve and I am... not very good at this." He gulped, Roselyn braced hands on his shoulders. "But I wanted to... I want-- you should know how much I..." He huffed a sharp exhalation.

"Alistair?" Roselyn spoke to break him from his clumsy, endearing words. He looked at her, eyes wide like a frightened deer. She watched him swallow, pupils dilated, and his breath coming fast.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Her lips found his as he dropped his head, hot, desperate, hungry; Roselyn felt his fingers furl into the material of her bodice and curve around the back of her head tangling within her hair. She rose onto tip toe, hands sliding over Alistair's shoulders to drape down his back. She arched into him, tilting her head for better purchase.

Alistair kissed her with insistent heat and reckless abandon, like she would slip from his grasp if he didn't. He almost gasped whenever their lips parted, sucking air into his lungs before resuming with renewed gusto.

Roselyn's stomach twisted and clenched fuelled by nervous, excited energy. Each movement of Alistair's hands had her knees growing weak and her nerves leaping under her skin. She wanted his hands on her, bare, not over the layers of her dress. He teased the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, she yielded to him, sighing his name and stealing a breath.

"Rose," Alistair's voice was little more than a groan. She felt his hands on her back, the ties of her bodice being toyed with by his fingers. "Can I..." He struggled for a moment, swallowing hard. Roselyn dipped her head, dragging her lips from his to kiss over his jaw and his neck. She began to unbuckle the clasps on his jerkin, nipping on the skin of his throat eagerly. His pulse grew faster; she could feel it thrumming close to her mouth. "Your bodice," Alistair's voice cracked a little. "Can I unlace it? Would that be all right?"

"Yes." Breathlessly she gave her assent, eager to feel his skin on hers, to quell the growing urgency and desire pooling in her belly. The last of the buckles on his jerkin came undone in her hands and Alistair assisted in pushing it off his shoulder. Roselyn pursued the laces of his breeches and his belt fumbling where it was fastened. Alistair's jerkin hit the floor with a deft thud, the metal clasps clattering on the ground.

From the window, Roo gave a short chuff of surprise which caused both Alistair and Roselyn to start. In unison they looked across at the mabari who wagged her stubby tail, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Chuckling, Alistair pressed a brief kiss to Roselyn's lips.

"Hold that thought," he murmured gently moving Roselyn's hands from his trousers. She watched him call Roo to his side and escort her from the room. Using the moment to clear her head, Roselyn ran her hands across her face and cheeks. Her skin was burning and her lips tingled from the kisses they had already shared, and with the thought of those to come. Whatever was about to happen she found herself not afraid, but eager, excited. She wanted him, what they would do now was for them - not for the benefit of anyone else. It was an expression of adoration, of how much they meant to each other and it was personal, not duty.

Roselyn gave a surprised gasp at the sensation of Alistair's hands sliding across her waist from behind, his lips pressing the skin behind her ear. "Roo is in the other room. I've locked the door." His voice was a grave whisper when he spoke and Roselyn shivered at the sound. "Is that all right? You don't feel like I'm trapping you here?"

"No," Roselyn leaned back into him until his chest was flush to her back. Alistair inched closer and she could just make out the bulge of his erection through the heavy layers of her skirts. "I don't feel trapped."

He chuckled softly, breath blowing across her ear. "Good." His hands skirted to her back, and Roselyn felt his fingers tuck beneath the laces of her bodice tugging at them to get to the knot. She cleared her hair over one shoulder, peering up at him. He wore a look of stern concentration, eyes down at where his fingers started to weave the lace away from her dress with clumsy keenness. Roselyn reached behind her and pressed her palm against him, smiling at the soft groan that slipped out of his mouth and the way his hands faltered on the unfamiliar gesture he was doing. He ground his hips against her hand, eyes closing for a brief moment when she squeezed.

Feeling her bodice begin to grow slack around her, Roselyn held it to her chest with one hand unwilling to let it fall yet. Alistair dropped his head, applying soft, open-mouthed kisses to her skin as more of it was revealed. Her sleeves loosened around her shoulders and she could feel the cool air on her skin. Alistair traced his fingers down over the plain of her back, pressing his knuckles along her spine. Easing his hands inside her clothing, Roselyn's breath trembled to feel his fingertips brush up the sides of her body, grazing the curve of her breasts. She fought to control her breathing, to control the shaking of her body. She tried to control the nervous energy making her feel anxious but exhilarated. What if he didn't like her body? What if there was something about her he found repulsive that he could never look at her? What if something went wrong?

She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of her intrusive thoughts. She did not want to think about her insecure worries, did not want them to dominate this moment between the two of them. He loved her, she loved him - that was what mattered. The rest was all superficial.

"Rose?" Alistair's teeth skimmed her shoulder where he nibbled along towards her neck. A pleased sigh passed between her lips as he nipped her skin, kissing her pulse point and driving his hips into her hand still at the front of his trousers.

"Mhm?"

He kissed up her neck, she yielded more to him, enjoying the sensation of his rough lips tickling her flesh and the occasional graze of his teeth. "You shook your head."

"I'm fine," Roselyn assured him, trying to make her voice as confident as possible. "I promise."

Alistair's lips pressed into the hollow behind her ear; inside her dress his hands passed over her breasts making her shiver venturing down towards the back of her skirt. "If you want me to stop..."

"I know," she nodded. "You'll stop." She caught a glimpse of his smile, reassuring and soft.

"Well, then..." Alistair murmured and Roselyn rubbed his arousal enough that his voice grew strangled. She laughed to herself, Alistair chuckled beside her ear, a deep rumble which reverberated down her spine. "You're such a tease," he remarked, ducking his fingers beneath the hem of her skirt. Roselyn could feel him brushing the clasp and lace which held it to her body. Once that was undone she would be all that was holding her dress up. Her stomach grew heavy in her body, fear weighing her down. "May I undo your skirt? Would that be all right?" asked Alistair, sounding almost as nervous as she felt. Roselyn was certain she heard him gulp too.

She nodded, "You may. Seeing as you asked so politely."

"Well, I may be a bastard but I am also a gentleman," joked Alistair, kissing the back of her neck. Roselyn was relieved that even at a time like this, where the tension around them was heavy and threatening to crush them both, they could tease and joke with each other. It made her worry a little less prevalent in her mind.

Alistair held her waist to keep her steady. Roselyn arched into the caress of his lips while he kissed his way down the middle of her back. It felt to her that he paused to kiss each notch of her spine, pressing his thumbs into the dimples at its base. He dropped to his knees behind her, his fingers wound up in the flimsy laces working them loose and then the single silver fasten which kept her skirt secure to her body.

Roselyn was certain she heard an audible 'snap' sound as the clasp came apart. The material grew loose and heavier around her as it slackened and Roselyn fought to keep herself covered. Alistair's hands drifted inside her dress, his fingers gliding over her abdomen making the muscles twitch. His lips drew lower over her back. He nipped her flesh with his teeth, applied more hot kisses as he teased his hands upwards over her belly and ribcage gently coaxing Roselyn to loosen her vice-like grip on her clothing and her modesty. Fighting for breath as each one grew sharper and shorter, Roselyn relinquished her hold shedding her cumbersome clothing until it was heaped around her feet leaving her in nothing but her small clothes. Her skin rose in gooseflesh against the cool air, nipples peaking in response to Alistair's soft touches over her flesh and the chill in their room.

Slowly, his hands ventured upwards stroking gingerly over her breasts, teasing her nipples between the lengths of his fingers while he continued to kiss and nuzzle her back. His palms were rough on her skin but his touch was tentative, slow, and careful. There was no urgency in Alistair's caress. Only sensual gentleness and care. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples making Roselyn gasp. He squeezed, feeling the weight of her breasts and filling his hands with them. Roselyn's breathing hitched, her heart thudding in her throat. She arched into his touch. Heat simmering in her belly began to flow through her veins, warming every inch of her.

Roselyn grasped his lower arms in her hands, lost for something to hold now her dress was gone. She yielded to where his hands explored over her rib cage, his thumbs skimming the curve of her breasts, down over her stomach towards the juncture of her thighs. Alistair's lips continued to ghost across her lower back. He dragged one hand across her leg, nails leaving faint reels in her skin. The other boldly delved lower, cupping her mound making Roselyn gasp and clamp her legs together.

"Wait, Alistair." She grappled behind her for his shoulder, for something to support herself on. "Wait. Wait."

In an instant he was up on his feet and in front of her, hands around her face. "I'm sorry. Am I going too fast?" He asked, eyebrows low, breathless, and his expression drawn into one of concern.

A nervous laugh escaped Roselyn's lips. The way he looked at her, she might as well have told him the world was ending. "A little, yes." She explained smiling to assure him she was not calling a halt to things. "And I'm feeling ... underdressed." She added, glancing at him, still fully clothed but for his jerkin and the boots he must have kicked off at some point.

Alistair glanced down at himself. "Oh," he laughed. "Right. Good point." His gaze drifted down and Roselyn watched his eyes widen slightly, only then appearing to realise she was all but completely naked standing before him. His cheeks grew scarlet. Her skin prickled beneath his gaze. She could feel her flesh growing warmer, colouring dark pink underneath his scrutiny. She fidgeted, curling her fingers into the palms of her hands and brought her arms up in an effort to cover herself when Alistair said nothing.

"N-no, don't." He reached towards her and coaxed her arms down to her sides. His fingers twitched as the tips of them slowly touched and followed the angle of her collarbone and down, skimming the swells of her breasts and over the darkened peaks of her nipples. He swallowed and blinked hard, a breath whooshing from between his lips. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," He murmured. Roselyn had no time to rebuff him as his lips moulded over hers, hands spreading across her back bringing her against him.

She returned his kiss, mouth open, tongue curling and winding around his, giving in to the intimacy of the moment. She slid her hands up into his hair, nails dragging across his scalp making him groan against her lips. She could feel his erection pressing into her belly from within his breeches and made a purposeful motion to press fully against him with her body. Alistair broke away, his voice trembling on a moan. "I am a lucky man."

"Clothes," she reminded him, nipping his bottom lip.

"Right, clothes," repeated Alistair, slightly strangled. Without another second of delay he pulled his loose cotton shirt up over his head and deposited it on the floor. Roselyn gently scratched her nails against his abdomen and navel, ducking her head to press kisses to his chest. She could feel his rib cage, rising and falling rapidly. Could feel the steady hammering of his heart, quick and intense. She pressed a kiss to where his heart was thundering, tucking her fingers beneath the hem of his trousers helping him with their removal.

Alistair unlaced them and pulled until they were loose. Roselyn eased them down over his buttocks and hips with his small clothes blindly, kissing his throat to stay occupied. He almost gasped at the sensation of his length no longer being confined by his clothes and kicked them off the rest of the way until he was able to step out of them. Roselyn wrapped one hand around his length, smirking at the soft moan that escaped his throat. She stroked him, cushioning his erection between his body and hers, lifting her head to press a kiss to his jaw.

Winding his hands up into her hair, Alistair caught her lips in a searing kiss; desperate, strong, unyielding, and making her senses swim. When Roselyn breathed it was his earthy scent she smelled, and the taste of him in her mouth. She saw only him, not the canopy of their bed or the ceiling or the windows, it was _just_ Alistair. His skin under her hands was hot and pulled over tight, controlled muscles, his body strong and steadfast.

They were both lost for breath when they parted, he grinned against her lips laughing as he grabbed at her thighs with both hands and hoisted her off the floor without ceremony. His lips muffled her surprised cry and subsequent laughter. Roselyn wrapped her legs around his waist swallowing Alistair's deep throaty chuckle. He squeezed her skin, digging his fingers into her flesh while turning and carrying her the short distance to their bed. He almost dropped her onto the covers, following by taking his weight on his arms. She shimmied up towards the pillows and he pursued, prowling and predatory. He kissed her briefly before his lips ventured down to explore.

He kissed her neck and her collarbone, nudging one leg between hers and rubbing at the apex of her thighs with his knee. Roselyn ground herself against him, enjoying the pleasurable shudder which ripped up her spine. Alistair nuzzled her breasts, stroking his fingers over her skin, following them with his lips. He kissed them, tongue teasing around one pert nipple in a swirl. He toyed with the other, his thumb brushing across it bringing it to an excited peak.

Roselyn barely remembered how to breathe. Her mind was a haze of desire, of wanting, intoxicated and enraptured as she watched him explore and map her body with his hands and lips and tongue. Her muscles twitched nervously with every soft caress, whether it was his mouth or his fingers. His stubble and the gentle, explorative touch of his hands tickled, she found herself giggling which brought a satisfied smile to her husband's mouth. She pressed one hand into his shoulder, the other she grasped the sheets underneath her, scrunching the fabric in her fingers.

He cupped her mound as he explored lower and Roselyn arched up off the bed into Alistair's hand, a groan falling out of her mouth. His fingers pressed the dampened material of her small clothes, the insides of her thighs already moist with her arousal. Alistair kissed her stomach and along the hem of her clothes to her hip. He bit down, making her hiss and then he kissed the offended area. Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of her under garments, Roselyn watched as he lifted his gaze to her, honey-brown eyes dark, cheeks a deep scarlet, and a lazy grin curving his lips.

"May I?" he asked, tilting his head to one side, resting his chin on her hip bone.

Roselyn swallowed down on the thudding of her heart in her throat. She focused on how Alistair looked at her, as if she were the only person in the world. The only one who mattered. It was a look which both terrified and excited her. To be looked at with such intensity and ardour. To be considered so precious to someone - she never imagined she would be looked at in such a way. "Y-yes," she nodded, rising her hips off the bed to assist with their removal. He peeled her remaining article of clothing down and tossed them aside blindly.

For a moment they were both silent and still, naked with each other for the first time and staring. Alistair kneeled between Roselyn's legs, hands stroking up and down the backs of her calves and thighs. She watched his eyes move upwards, regarding every inch of her. She drank him in the same way. She admired his broad shoulders and chest, the way his body narrowed attractively at the waist. She appreciated the faint scars from sparring matches and tourneys, the glow of his skin from the sunlight streaming through the windows, and the steady rise and fall of his chest on his breaths. Her gaze followed the line of sandy gold hair descending from his belly button to where it grew darker and thicker. She held his cock, fondled it, stroked it, groped it in the past, but never really looked at it. Before, their encounters were in darkened rooms with little light, or there were clothes, not in the day with light illuminating every muscle and sinue.

It wasn't an ugly thing, as far as Roselyn could tell - she had nothing else to compare it to after all. It looked to her to be longer than the length of her hand from heel to finger tip, and thick. The skin was darker there than the rest of his body and the crown of his length was shining, smeared with precum. Roselyn tilted her head the longer she looked. Exactly how in the Maker's name was this going to work?

Alistair cleared his throat and her eyes flew up to meet his. He arched a brow, lips easing into an attractive but smug grin.

"You're staring," she remarked after a few moments looking away. Her skin started to grow chill under his discerning gaze and she grew bashful, covering herself up with her arms.

"So were you."

"It's a little unnerving."

"Why?" Alistair smiled, practically glowing. He took her hands, gently coaxing her limbs away from where she tried to hide. "You're lovely." He squeezed her fingers. "Utterly breathtaking."

Feeling her whole body blush, Roselyn pressed her hands to her face to hide her embarrassment. Above her, Alistair chuckled and the mattress shifted underneath her. She peeked through her fingers expecting to see him leaning over her. Instead he was further down the bed, his head between her thighs. Both curious and uneasy, Roselyn brought her hands away from her face.

"What are y--" Her words grew into a growl at the sudden sensation of his tongue lapping against her heat. Roselyn pressed her head back into her pillows, clenching her eyes shut, hands furling into fists. _"Shit."_ Alistair laughed and the sound shot right through her body, up her spine. He squeezed the fingers of one hand into her thigh, the other hand pressed on her abdomen, his thumb flicking against her clit. "Shitshitfuck!"

Any thoughts of protestation flew from Roselyn's head in a moment. She clenched her fingers into the sheets, toes curling as she grit her teeth. She was assaulted by his tongue licking, his lips suckling, and the steady niggle of his thumb; circling, nudging, stroking at the hood of her sex. Roselyn's muscles tightened and clenched in her belly, in her legs. Her gut turned over itself, twisting into knots in response to the sensations rocketing through her body. She felt her nerves aflame in her skin, her blood rushing through her veins, deafening her to sounds like her breathing. Her body grew hotter with each flick of Alistair's tongue and she could taste her sweat when she bit her top lip.

Alistair's hands moved to cup beneath her backside and raise her hips off the covers. His mouth pressed harder into her sex, the tip of his tongue brushing against her clit making Roselyn cry out and her legs tremble. She was not sure if Alistair was smiling or not; she was not sure of anything beyond the hot pleasure shooting through her body. She peered down at him through half-lidded eyes and could see him looking back, gauging her reaction. She was certain his eyes darkened and his efforts grew more concerted, fingers digging into the flesh of her arse. He hummed at the back of his throat, a low growling vibration which ricochet through her making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.

Gasping and grappling for anything to ground herself, Roselyn anchored her hand to Alistair's when he grabbed one of them. She squeezed his fingers in hers, digging her nails into his skin and her feet down into the covers. She lifted her other arm, stuffing it under a pillow and pushing her face into that. She rocked her hips into Alistair's mouth, her thighs growing more tense the longer he pleased her. And he did please her. Had she known _anything_ could feel like this, she would have been more eager.

"Andraste's aaah--" A guttural groan ripped from Roselyn's throat and then she started laughing. "Stopstoptstop!!" Her whole body grew uncomfortably taut. The muscles in her legs tightened and her gut clenched. "Maker's breath-- _Alistair-!"_ A wave of bliss crashed over her, forcing her to bury her face further into her pillow and bite down. She flailed her legs in Alistair's hands, her foot hit something and he released her. She rolled onto her side, breathing hard. As she panted her sweat slid over her back soaking into the sheets. She vaguely heard Alistair laughing over the sound of blood thumping in her head. Lips kissed up her thigh, lazily working upwards over the side of her body and the mattress dipped either side of her.

"Everything alright under there?" his voice teased beside her ear, low and gruff. "I'm looking for my wife." He eased Roselyn's pillow away from her and she rolled onto her back. Breathless, Roselyn encircled his face in her hands, lifting her head to kiss his mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue as it caressed hers and Alistair nudged her legs apart to kneel between them. "You kicked me," he remarked, smiling into her lips.

"I did?" Roselyn lifted her eyebrows. She kissed his mouth, his cheeks and his forehead. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's all right," he laughed. "Quite funny, actually." As he lay over her, Roselyn smoothed her hands down his back, stroking over muscle and sinew. She bent her legs, shuffling down the bed a little. Between them, Alistair grasped his cock and she felt him nudge it towards her sex, stroking the head alongher slick folds. "Are you sure about this?" He asked, his voice grave and earnest. "We can stop now, if it's too much."

"It's not," Roselyn shook her head, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "I want to."

"All right," Alistair gave a nod of his head. "Remember if you want to stop, just say so." Roselyn nodded silently. Alistair held her down with one hand, taking his weight. Pressing his forehead to hers he slowly began to guide and sheath himself inside her with the other. A little at first, the space behind Roselyn's nose tingled and she closed her eyes to concentrate on taking slow breaths. Another inch or so and she felt a sharp pinching as her body grew accustomed to the intrusion. She could feel Alistair shaking with the effort it took to take things slow and not rush. Arching her head back, she kissed his bottom lip, gripping to his back with her fingertips.

A low groan rumbled within Alistair's chest once he was inside her completely. The sensation was strange, new. Roselyn felt full, her body was hotter but the pain she had been so afraid of was minimal. A sharp prick, like being stabbed in the finger with a needle or by a thorn. She almost wanted to laugh at how much she had built it up in her mind.

Alistair dropped his head, pressing a fierce kiss to her mouth, stroking his hands over her hips and down her thighs, guiding her legs to bend. She could feel his heart racing apace with her own. Her mouth opened, tongue drew forth to caress his. Alistair rolled his hips, easing out of her a little then back inside. Roselyn tightened around him and he groaned softly. "Maker's breath, I love you," he sighed, nuzzling her forehead. "Are you all right? Does it hurt?" The urgency in his voice was touching. Roselyn stroked the back of his neck.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Just--" She winced a little when he moved for comfort. "Keep going."

He obeyed, lips finding her mouth to kiss, inhaling sharply when they parted. He rocked his hips, slow at first easing them into the new sensations flooding over them both. One hand grabbed for her thigh, fingers applying weighty pressure into her flesh; and the other tangled behind her head, winding up in to her hair, arching her head back. He dragged his mouth from hers, over her cheek to bite down on the lobe of her ear.

Roselyn tightened her arms around Alistair's back, pressing her hands into his muscles, feeling them move and contract beneath her palms. She clung to him, dug her heels into the backs of Alistair's thighs, rolling her hips clumsily to try and match his pace. He squeezed her backside, making her laugh and arch her hips up off the bed. He trailed his mouth down over her throat, taking a nipple between his lips to suckle while rising up onto his knees and clinging to her hips in his hands. Bracing her hands on his arms, Roselyn chewed her bottom lip, feeling her belly growing tighter with the change of position.

Wrapping her long legs around his waist and pressing her heels into the base of his back Roselyn put her weight into one hand behind her in her pillows rising up a little. She scratched the nails of her other hand across his shoulders, anchoring herself to him and watched her body envelope Alistair's shaft with each drive of his hips. His face knotted, head back, nostrils flared while he fought for air between desperate gasps. His thrusts grew harder, quicker, pulling out almost entirely before plunging into her on frantic strokes. Roselyn heard herself groan, grunting, pleasure building to desperate heights. She fell back into the pillows, dragging her fingers down his arms to grip around his wrist. His large hands skimmed upwards and held her around her ribcage.

She noticed Alistair watching her from his vantage point, mouth curved into a smirk. He looked dashing with his hair all awry, sticking to his temple and his neck with his sweat. Roselyn smiled, trailing her hands along his arms to link their fingers together. She guided his hands up beside her head and he all but toppled forward on top of her with a low chuckle.

"You're smiling," he pointed out, panting and adjusting his speed. His thrusts slowed growing deeper, more deliberate in their intent. He wrangled one hand away from Roselyn's to grab one of her legs, angling it away from her body, creating a new depth to his thrusts. With each snap of his hips, a spark generated within Roselyn's core making every inch of her erupt in pleasing trembles. "Why are you smiling?" Alistair asked, kissing her mouth almost weakly. His voice was strained, brow furrowing as he fought to cling on a little longer.

"Do-- hmm!" Roselyn threw her head back, another jolt of pleasure rising up her spine, she clutched at the sheets beneath her fruitlessly. Alistair pressed the hand he held back into the pillows, tucking his head beneath her chin to kiss her throat. "Do I need a reason?" she managed to choke out before another moan tore up from her chest.

"N-no, but--" Alistair groaned, breathing hard. "Maker's breath, Rose..." He gave a strangled whimper, unclasping her hand to cup her face. "Rose, I--" He kissed her for a moment, lips lingering, breath stinging her mouth with its heat. His hips drove faster, harder, sweat slicked skin slapping with each connection. Roselyn teased the tip of her tongue across his top lip. She tasted his sweat and curled her hands up into his hair, tightening her thighs around his hips, crossing her ankles. "I-I--" Alistair bit back a groan, grunting through his nose. His body shook against her. Roselyn kissed him hard, his hand around her face curved behind her, spreading out flat across the top of her back between her shoulder blades.

"I love you," Roselyn murmured into his mouth between her own gasps.

His face contorted, his jaw tightened and behind her she felt his nails rake across her skin. "I l-love you," he growled, crushing his lips to hers again. "Sweet Maker, Rose-!" His words were desperate, peppered against her lips like drops of rain. His body went stiff, all his muscles going tense and tight as he buried himself inside her.

Alistair quaked, making a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper into her mouth. Rocking his hips he began to slow and his hold around Roselyn slackened. He was shaking as he pressed soft, reverent kisses to her lips, her cheeks, and to her forehead, touching her with softness and reverve as if she afraid she would shatter. When he slipped out of her he remained over her, wrapping his arms around her back to take his weight. Roselyn encircled his waist with her arms stroking her fingers up and down his spine. Alistair pressed his cheek to her breasts and she listened to the sounds of them both chasing their breath. She felt his chest rise and fall, and teased her fingers through his hair.

She felt sore between her legs but that did not distract from the warmth and satisfaction she felt nestled beneath her husband, his thumbs working small circles on the skin of her back. She was breathless and her sweat was quickly drying, but she could say to herself with utter truth that she was happy and felt content. Alistair shifted and lifted his head enough that he could press a long kiss to her mouth, murmuring soft affectionate words into her lips. When he broke away, he slid one hand out from underneath her to clear locks of hair away from her face with deliberate tenderness. He smiled from under heavy lids, and sighed into the kiss Roselyn brushed over his lips. "Mhm... Rose..." He sighed and nuzzled her forehead.

"Mhm-hm?"

"Are you happy?" Alistair asked.

"I am." Roselyn smiled at the pleased expression on his face. "Are you?"

"Very."

Roselyn kissed him winding locks of his hair around her fingers. "Now I think we can consider ourselves quite married." She stated breaking the kiss.

"Yes," Alistair agreed rolling onto his side and winding her up into his chest. He kissed the crown of her head. "Quite married, indeed."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... i hope that was everything you guys hoped it would be. That it wasn't a let down. Next part will be up in a few weeks time!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, let me know what you think. <3


	17. Chapter 11: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair awakens a few hours later and revels in what passed between he and Roselyn not long ago. Both awake, they talk and after a brief interlude go back to sleep, happy and contented. The morning comes with news to shatter that in a way no one thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Giving credit again to razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) for being amazing beta readers and supportive. :D  
> \- Chapter rating: Mature [nsfw]  
> \- Chapter art commissioned from syberfab on tumblr.

 

* * *

When Alistair awoke several hours later, his mind slowly clearing from the sleepy grogginess surrounding him he grew aware of several different things one at a time.

First, that he was cold. A sensation which made sense to him given that he was naked as a newborn babe and asleep on top of the covers. All he had to cover him was half a blanket knotted around his feet. He was pleased at least his feet were cosy - he hated having cold feet.

Second, it was night time, or at the very least late evening. The drapes to his and Roselyn's room were wide open and he could see nothing through the window except a sliver of moonlight and the clouds passing over it. He wondered if anyone had come to check on them or wake them. He recalled locking the door to their bedchamber, but not the main door to their rooms. If anyone knocked they must have both been too deep asleep to hear it.

His third thought was that he was hungry. His stomach grumbled upon waking, and he was certain his stomachs complaints were _why_ he was now awake. He had not eaten since before going to the Alienage that morning which was hours ago. Supper would be finished by now, the cook asleep. He wondered if perhaps he could venture down to the kitchen and grab some leftovers.

The forth, and most important thought he had, was to his wife asleep beside him. Roselyn was craftier than he was and appeared to have stolen the covers. She was curled up within them, her back to him and her hair draped out behind her. Her steady breathing told Alistair she was still sound asleep, that his minor movements had not disturbed her. He was pleased for that, not wanting to disrupt her sleeping. His concern was that what passed between them was more exhausting for her than for him and did not wish her to suffer for it.

Lying back in the deepness of his pillows, blinking himself awake Alistair could scarcely bring himself to believe what happened actually happened. It still all felt like something his mind would cook up as he dreamed. But it was real, they had slept together, consummated their marriage on _their_ terms and it was not a disaster, nor had it been the nerve wracking, horrifying experience he pictured when he thought of it.

On the contrary it was a pleasurable experience. A little clumsy and awkward at times - his shoulder stung from where she kicked him - but it was memorable and he sighed as he recalled details of it. Roselyn's voice in his ears, the way she ardently expressed that she loved him. The smell of her skin, the taste of her sweat, the sensation of her legs wrapped around his waist drawing him in. How he felt each time he moved inside her, how she clenched and held him, how her fingers pressed into his skin. He recalled her little smile before his climax had crashed over him. A little secretive grin just for him. She told him she was happy - and he believed it.

When he told her he loved her he blurted the words out in a fit of thrilling pride, never expecting to hear it back. Not if they were married for twenty years and surrounded by children, he never believed to hear the words spoken to him. Never believed himself worthy of hearing them. She said them though, and more than that she meant them. Her words were so passionate and firm as they tumbled from her mouth. That first utterance almost winded him, taking him by surprise with how she spoke them allowing them to just fall from her lips. There was no ceremony, no lead up - not like in the books his tutor scolded him for reading. She said it as though it were an everyday mundane thing. She said it like he had, the words just coming so easily and naturally.

No one had ever told him they loved him. Not that he could recall at least. Maric told him he was proud, but that was not the same thing. Eamon and Teagan were fond of him, but he could not remember them ever saying they loved him. He imagined his mother may have told him but that was so long ago he could not remember. Cailan was... Cailan did not mention love. To be told he was loved was a gesture Alistair considered lofty and above him. Meant for people with families and relations who wanted them around. Not for those for whom he was a handy bastard in case something happened to the crown Prince.

Roselyn had said it though. Words meant for him. _Only_ him. And it made his heart ache with the weight of his joy and affection. The adoration he felt for his wife only grew larger and stronger the more they were together - it seemed boundless. The sentiments he described, that he never expected to be happy with someone he was arranged to marry were true. He considered himself lucky and blessed that Roselyn was his wife and not someone else. He could not imagine himself married to anyone else. They matched each other, complimented each other, and there was no one else Alistair wanted to be with.

Stretching his limbs, Alistair shifted across the mattress towards Roselyn's slumbering body. He lay one arm over her waist after tucking himself under the covers to part take in the warmth she created. His movements disturbed her and she rolled onto her back, flinging one arm up above her head into the pillows. Alistair laughed at her preferred sleeping position, her hair a tangled mess over her face which he tenderly brushed back from her eyes and forehead.

Leaning up on his elbow he observed her in the low light as she slept on. Even now her skin retained an attractive pink colour. Dark eyelashes swept across her cheeks, fluttering as she dreamed. Her lips were red, slightly bruised from their kissing before and curved into a small smile. He could see a few marks on her neck and shoulders where he had bitten in the midst of his passion. Trailing a hand beneath the covers he felt over the expanse of her belly, easing his fingers down over her navel. Her muscles responded to the lightest touch, jumping in reaction to his soft caresses. He followed up over her rib cage, fingers barely brushing the curve of her breasts and her nipples up over her collar bone and her neck. His exploration ending at her chin, at her lips; where he pressed a soft, chaste kiss.

"That tickles, you know?" Roselyn mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Alistair offered a sheepish smile, teasing locks of her hair back behind her ears, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's alright." She pushed her fingers back through his hair, lifting her head to kiss him. "Is it morning? Do we need to get up?"

"Not morning. It's not even tomorrow, I don't think." Alistair explained watching Roselyn slowly adjust to the low light of their room and peer into the gloom towards the window. She blinked a few times in rapid succession. Alistair moved away as she began to sit up, the blankets falling away from her chest to pool in her lap.

"It's night," she squinted her eyes at the moon light.

"It is," Alistair sat up beside her, took one of her hands in his and kissed the inside of her palm. "Were you dreaming?" He kissed along the inside of her wrist towards her elbow, smiling at the sound of Roselyn's laughter.

"I think so."

"Must have been a good dream. You were smiling."

"Exactly how long were you watching me sleep?" inquired Roselyn, arching her head back which allowed Alistair to trail his lips across her shoulder and up her throat. He moved to sit on his knees, holding her shoulders in a gentle grip, feeling the sensation of her swallowing against his lips as he kissed and nibbled her skin. "Alistair..." Roselyn sighed, meeting his lips in a heady kiss, curling her hands and fingers around the back of his neck. He slicked his tongue across her bottom lip, and eased it between her lips, angling his head.

Alistair's stomach began to bubble, excitement and arousal building inside him making his heart begin to race. His hands drifted down over Roselyn's shoulders, cupping and moulding over her breasts. Her nipples pressed into her palms and he could feel his length growing stiff. He did not think he would be so eager to make love to her again, but his body had other ideas and his desire for Roselyn was overriding his other sense.

She was receptive to his affection, easing back slowly, first onto her arms and then onto her back. Reaching down between them, Alistair nestled snug between her legs, she wrapped her hand around his cock and began to stroke. Biting back a soft moan, Alistair pulled his mouth from hers as his breathing began to grow shorter. Kissing down her throat, he nuzzled the curve of her neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to hear her gasp. His toes tore into the sheets as she squeezed her hand around him and he hissed in response.

"Rose..." he murmured into her flesh, relishing the scent of her skin filling his head. "That's uncalled for."

"What is?" she asked him, eyes wide open, innocent, the silver light of the moon reflecting back at him. He squinted down at her, not to be led astray by her devious, bewitching ways. "Did you mean this?" she asked, squeezing and stroking him again making him gasp.

"Yes," he replied. Reaching for her hands with his, he locked their fingers together and pressed her hands into the pillows above her head. "Very unbecoming of a Princess," he told her, muffling her soft laughter with his lips on hers, and driving his hips against her, his length against her mound. Tongue teasing along her top lip, Alistair rolled his hips again, eyelids slipping closed at the sensation of bliss coursing through his body. Roselyn wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him towards her, giggling into the hot kiss he pressed to her mouth.

It was then Alistair's hunger decided to make itself known and his stomach emitted an audible grumble, putting a premature end to his and Roselyn's early passions. Laughing through his nose, Alistair dropped his head to the crook of her neck, chuckling into her shoulder. Roselyn shook with her own laughing, squeezing her eyes closed and biting her lip to try and muffle it.

"And with that..." sighed Alistair lifting his head, "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," Roselyn grinned.

"Right," Alistair climbed out of bed and pulled the blankets back up to cover Roselyn's body. "You stay here; I'll go and see if there are some leftovers in the kitchens."

"Don't be too long." Roselyn groaned. Alistair watched her stretch her limbs, lithe and cat-like as he stumbled around, pulling on a pair of cotton breeches and a shirt. He admired the way her muscles trembled under her movement, the way her back arched up off the mattress pushing her breasts towards the canopy of their bed.

He bit his lip, a different hunger blazing in his gut. He almost reconsidered his decision to get food, drawn to the alluring idea of climbing back into bed with his wife and continuing what they had started. Then his stomach growled again, putting a stop to the idea. "Back in a few minutes." He kissed her forehead and marched himself out into the main room after unlocking the door to their bed chamber.

Across the room, Roo lifted her head from where she slept on a dark red couch giving Alistair a cursory glance as he crossed to the main door. Alistair liked the palace at night time more than any other time of day. When most everyone was asleep and the only people awake were a handful of guards. It gave the palace time to air out, the rooms themselves seemed to relax without the bustle and noise of courtiers and nobles clamouring for attention. Candles were lit on sconces, lighting the hallways and when he passed them, the guards offered brief nods of their head to him in respect but said nothing.

To make his journey quicker, Alistair opted for the servants steps to get down to the kitchens. They were faster than walking through the long hallways and corridors and meant his mission for food would be completed far more quickly and he could return to his room and his wife. The servants stairwell was perilous though, cold stone steps and a winding spiral staircase which veered off at different intervals to different floors. He gripped the iron banister on the way down to keep himself steady and was dizzy by the time he reached the bottom.

Scent of the evening's meal still lingered in the air down in the kitchens making Alistair's stomach growl louder and his need for sustenance that much greater. The servants and the cooks were asleep given the late hour, and Alistair fumbled around the kitchen for a candle and matches using only the dying embers of the fire to see by. He stumbled over logs used for when a roast was cooking over a spit and caught himself on the central table where much of the preparation of food took place. Something hit the floor making a loud clattering sound as it smashed. He winced and paused, worried he might have woken someone.

After a few seconds of silence and no footsteps Alistair breathed a sigh and used the table as a guide. He knew they kept candles and matches towards the back away from the fireplace. Gingerly stepping over the broken shards on the floor he rummaged through a few cupboards before coming across what he wanted. He took a single candle, ignited a match from the embers in the hearth and lit the wick. It was enough light for him to see by at the very least, better than the light given by the glow in the fire.

He quickly cleared up the smashed bowl, placing the pieces in a pile on one of the counters far from the edge. He made a mental note to apologise to the head cook and arrange a replacement. After checking what was available, Alistair piled up a plate with bread, butter, salted pork, and cheese. He grabbed two tankards and precariously carrying his candle returned to his and Roselyn's rooms the way he came.

On his return he saw Roselyn had lit candles in both their bedchamber and the presence chamber where he found her on the floor playing with Roo. He was disheartened to see she was dressed now but made no mention of it, putting the plate of food and the jug down on a table near where she sat. He took a seat on the couch behind her and Roselyn smiled at him while picking a strip of pork from the plate. She took a bite and then gave the rest to Roo who gobbled it down greedily.

"She almost bowled me over when I came out of the bedroom," Roselyn told him, running her hands across Roo's ears. "I think she was worried."

"About what?" Alistair glanced at the mabari who was sniffing at the food on the table, her stub tail wagging. He knew how devoted the hounds were to their owners, how protective they could be and was suddenly worried that Roo would see him as a threat now his and Roselyn's relationship was physical.

"I think she was concerned you were hurting me." Roselyn shrugged her shoulders.

Alistair glanced at the floor, "Oh..."

"Or she's just feeling a little jealous that she was moved out of our room."

The thought niggled at the back of Alistair's mind as he chewed on a heel of bread. He watched Roselyn play with Roo, getting her to roll onto her back so she could rub the dogs belly, to sit and present to her a paw and be rewarded with a piece of cheese. Roselyn wore one of his shirts and where she sat cross-legged it draped across the tops of her thighs. He found himself staring and when he realised, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

"I... uhm..." he began, uncertain how to ask the question he wanted to.

"Hm?" Roselyn leaned back to look at him, the back of her head touching his knee. He glanced down the open neck of her shirt, glimpsing the curve of her breasts and quickly looked away feeling his ears growing hot under a blush. If the way he reacted it wasn't so pathetic it would have been funny. Less than an hour before he was touching her naked skin with his fingers, kneeling over her, bold and eager, feeling no hesitation. Earlier in the day he had studied her naked body while she lay bare before him and he knelt between her legs, just as naked. Now, the mere subtle hint of her nakedness or intimacy and he blushed like a child.

It made no sense to him and he chided himself for it.

Mouth quirking to one side, he considered his words aware of Roselyn watching, waiting patiently for him to speak. Chest growing tight, he put his bread on the plate, wiped his hands on his trousers and started to tease his fingers through the messy ringlets of her hair for a distraction. "About..." He stopped, sighed, and closed his eyes making a little frustrated grunt sound at himself. "Did you... I mean-- did I-- uh..." He puffed his cheeks out, furrowing his brows. "Are you all right?" he asked, lamely, peering down at her face.

"All right...?" Roselyn pursed her lips folding her hands in her lap. "All right... in what way?" She squinted at him. Alistair got the distinct impression she was teasing him, playing the innocent on purpose.

"All right..." His shoulders sagged when he sighed and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I mean... did I-- are you in any - uhm--" He clenched his eyes closed and inhaled, "anypain? DidIhurtyou?"

Roselyn gave a lilted mirthful chuckle and Alistair opened his eyes a little to look at her. She craned her head back further into his lap causing his mouth to brush down over the tip of her nose until she was able to kiss him, his bottom lip between hers. It was an interesting sensation to be kissed upside-down, strange, but enjoyable. He smiled against her lips, tickling his fingers up and down her neck.

"I'm a little sore," she told him after breaking the kiss. "But no, you didn't hurt me." As she straightened to sit upright, Alistair returned his hands to her shoulders beginning to rotate his thumbs at the top of her spine. "I should ask-- hn!" Alistair pressed his thumbs deeper into the knots at the top of her back. Roselyn moaned and dropped her head forward, her hair falling over her shoulders.

"Sorry? Was that a bad noise or a good noise?" Alistair inquired dipping his head low enough to kiss the nape of her neck.

"Good noise," she assured him. She allowed her shoulders to drop, her whole body relaxing and Alistair applied more pressure enjoying the soft sounds of approval she made. The shirt she wore obscured all but the top of her back to him so Alistair settled for sliding his hands gradually along her shoulders, working his thumbs in circles to either side of her spine.

"You were going to ask me something?" he prompted her after a few minutes.

"Hm?" Roselyn tilted her head to one side, "Oh. Yes." Surprising him, she sat up straight and turned to face him a serious look on her face. For a moment he felt a cold seed of worry in his gut, concerned that she was upset about something, or he had done something wrong. "That... _thing_ you did..." she began, lips drawn to one side. She considered her words just as he had done which made Alistair feel an odd sense of relief. She was as inexperienced as he was, after all. Discussing the intimate act which passed between them was not like discussing the weather.

"What thing?" he inquired, noticing how his voice came out tighter than he anticipated. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water from his tankard.

"You know..." urged Roselyn, gesturing with her hands, "That... _thing_."

Mouth pulling into a grin, Alistair laughed. He leaned forward, reaching for her hands stroking his thumbs across her knuckles. "You'll have to be more specific, Rose," he teased her, his confidence growing. "I think I did quite a few things."

Her expression fell as she look at him, eyes and mouth pulling into an unimpressed frown. She huffed through her nose, blowing strands of hair from her lips. "That thing. With your..." Her gaze lingered on his mouth then darted away. She saw colour rise to her cheeks and she licked her bottom lip. He managed not to grin at her endearing bashfulness, knowing it would only earn her irritation. "When I kicked you."

"Oh!" he chuckled. "That." He thought to how helpless and surprised she was when he started to tease her with his mouth. The noises she made, the way her body tensed. His skin warmed and he shifted in his chair. "You know before then, I don't think I'd ever heard you swear." He remarked, trying to distract himself from the images of her writhing and moaning under his assault filling his mind.

"That's because I don't. Usually," Roselyn rolled her eyes skywards and ran her fingers through her hair with a sigh. She rest her hands on her shoulders, palms down. "I was curious how you... _where_ you learned to do that.

"A book," Alistair shrugged. "Or at least, that's where I read about it. You can't really learn without..." He stroked his hands up over her bare thighs, his voice dropping to a low growl when he spoke. "Practical application." Roselyn lay her hands over his and narrowed her eyes slightly. He felt his smile falter, his seed of worry beginning to sprout. For all his bluster, he was uncertain whether what he had done was good or not. He thought Roselyn enjoyed it, _hoped_ she did at least. But her line of questioning made him doubt. "Why? Was it... Didn't you... uhm... like it?"

"I did!" she answered without missing a beat. Nodding for additional confirmation she began to move, rising onto her knees. Alistair reclined to give her space. "I was just curious." A shrug had one  sleeve slipping off her shoulder. "What book was it?" She got to her feet.

"It was..." Alistair noticed the curve of her backside as she turned away from him. "Uhm-- The... The-- uhh..." He grew aware that she was moving towards their bed chamber and his words went dead in his throat. She looked back at him with an alluring smile pulling at her lips and disappeared behind the door, leaving him to debate continuing to eat or going after her. Apparently she didn't want to talk any more.

The decision took him only moments to come to. He drank a few gulps of water down quickly and placed his tankard on the table. He tossed a piece of salted pork at Roo who caught it and then he moved the plate back across table in the hopes it was out of the hound's reach.

Following Roselyn into their room, Alistair was met with it tidier than he left it. She must have tidied their clothes while he went down to the kitchens. The candles were also lit, giving the room a warm glow and plenty of light for him to see by. Not _all_ the clothes were tidied, however. The shirt Roselyn was wearing now lay discarded on the floor with her small clothes while she lay on her front on their bed, snuggling a pillow underneath her chin.

Closing the door behind him, making certain to lock it again, Alistair quirked a brow at Roselyn when her heated gaze settled on him once she was comfortable. He crossed his arms, in the attempt to appear steadfast. He would not be seduced by the mere sight of her sprawled naked over their bed. No matter how attractive she was. No matter how he enjoyed following the roundness of her arse, or the dip of her back with his eyes. No matter how the candle flames illuminated her skin.

"Do you think you could rub my shoulders?" Her request would have been innocent enough, if she wasn't naked. "It felt good while you were doing it in the other room."

He could feel himself moving towards the bed even before he admitted he was doing it. She was just too tempting and he was weak when confronted with her. The prospect of being with her again, of having her naked skin under his hands, of hearing the sounds she made once more, was stronger than his desire to stay firm in his resolve. To be stubborn and require seduction of his own. The mere sight of her had his blood flowing, his hunger forgotten in the wake of new desire. He almost tripped over the hem of his trousers as he stripped out of them on his way over to her. He dropped his shirt to the floor as he climbed onto the bed and knelt over her out stretched legs.

Kneeling over Roselyn’s thighs, Alistair swallowed thickly. He wanted to focus on his task, on her back, on the faint outline of muscles developed from years of firing a bow but found his gaze was constantly being dragged downwards, tempted by the attractive curve of her backside; his attention grabbed by how snug he fit with his pelvis pressed flush to the backs of her thighs.

The rustling of her hugging her pillow above him caught his interest, and he lifted his eyes to see her head turned to one side, her hair pulled up over one shoulder exposing her whole back. Alistair would quite happily admit right then he liked his wife’s back. He liked many parts of her body, but her back was a beautiful, unmapped plain. He liked it immensely; the subtle dip of her spine and the sharp angles of her shoulder blades, he liked the fading marks of his fingers where they he had dragged them over her skin. He liked her skin too, and he loved the way she looked at him. Coy, inviting, almost erotic but for the flourish of pink across her cheeks.

“So…” Roselyn murmured, biting her bottom lip.

A rough chuckle fell out of Alistair’s mouth. “So,” he grinned and leaned over her so he could reach up to her shoulders. Placing his hands either side of her back, just beneath her shoulder blades he pressed his thumbs into the sides of her spine and started to rotate them. Roselyn gave a small shudder beneath him and Alistair fought not to groan at the sensation of her practically vibrating against his groin. “Sorry,” he apologized instead. “Rough hands.”

Roselyn shook her head, “I like your hands.”

“Oh…” Alistair felt his cheek darken with colour. A thought came upon him, making him smirk to himself. “Maybe we should find out where else you might like them, hm?” He asked, his voice growing huskier with his words and the meaning behind them.

He watched Roselyn lift a brow and peer up at him from beneath a half-lidded eyes, “Maybe we should.”

Stomach coiling, Alistair began to trail his hands along her shoulders pressing his fingers deep into her muscles. Behind him she kicked her legs up, ankles crossed and the gesture forced him to inch forward until his length was cushioned snugly between her legs at the crux of her sex. He tried to ignore how alluring the heat of her body was, how blood rushed through his limbs and focused to his groin making him grow hard. So obvious that Roselyn must have been able to feel it.

Sliding his hands down her back either side of her spine, she moaned softly in satisfaction and wriggled enough that the head of his cock nudged at her folds. Alistair bit back the urge to groan, taking a deep breath to settle himself and resumed his concentration on his task.

Up and down. Up. Down. He applied pressure with each pass of his hands over her flesh growing more uncomfortable with the simmering warmth building in his belly. Up and down. Dipping his hands to the bottom of her back he wound his thumbs in steady circles over the dimples there and the top of her arse, pressing deep.  For support he gripped her hips with his fingers, rotating clockwise then anti-clockwise ignoring how his thumbs began to ache. The only indication he had that Roselyn was still awake was the occasional contented murmur or soft moan spilling from between her lips.

As he began to knead her backside with the heels of his hands, Roselyn giggled and turned her head enough that she could see him over her shoulder. Again she wriggled, and Alistair could have sworn she rubbed herself against his erection on purpose. Locking gazes, he leaned forward low enough to kiss her the small of her back, beginning to kiss up placing hot, open-mouthed kisses at random intervals. His lips dragged over her skin, his head filled with the smell of her making him light-headed. He curved one hand round, between her body and the covers, fingers inching, searching for her heat.

Roselyn lifted her hips off the bed, enough that Alistair could move his hand unencumbered. He eased his fingers through the coarse hair between her thighs and teased them between her lips. Hips bucking, Roselyn clenched her fingers into her pillow, biting down on her bottom lip at the first light brush of his fingertips.

Following the valley of her spine up, Alistair lapped at her skin and bit down on the flesh around her shoulder blades. Her arousal coated his fingers as he stroked along her slit, teasing the hooded bundle of nerves with steady circles of the tip of his finger. Roselyn lifted one hand, fingers brushing through Alistair's hair and he followed her guidance, stretching over her to kiss her mouth where she arched back awkwardly to meet him.

"Rose," Alistair mumbled against her lips. He drove his hips against her, his cock sliding between her mound and the covers. "Are we making up for lost time?"

"Something like that." Smiling into his kiss she lifted her hips a little more. Alistair held his shaft in his free hand positioning it between her slick folds driving his hips slowly, enjoying the friction, being caught between her body and the covers. They both moaned then, before the noise dissipated into laughter. "Would you prefer not to?"

"No, no... It's not that." Alistair pressed his forehead to her temple, squeezing his eyes closed. She was so tempting and it was so tempting to just slide inside her. He wanted to feel her envelope him. Wanted her warmth around him, her muscles squeezing and he wanted to bury himself inside her again. "Are you sure though?" he asked, his voice a little choked. She rolled her hips into his pelvis, grinding on the length of his cock. Alistair stifled a desperate whimper, pushing her face into her hair. "I don't want you to be hurting in the morning."

"I can manage," Roselyn promised him, lips caressing his cheek. He felt her teeth close around the lobe of his ear. She began to suckle, biting down  gently. "It's up to you. We don't need to continue if you're uncomfortable or worried about me."

Alistair grunted softly, distracted by her lips, and the sensation of her skin flush to his. He could barely concentrate beyond the desire he felt flooding his senses, the way Roselyn ground her hips into his hand, rolling and rutting in time with the movements of his fingers. She had started this, he reminded himself. She would not have done so if she was not willing or believed herself unable to continue. And he _did_ want her. It took all his control not to guide his length inside her at that moment.

Lifting his head enough that Roselyn's mouth was no longer able to reach his ear, he dipped his head to kiss her, trailing the tip of his tongue across her top lip. Roselyn chuckled, a shaky little noise, her fingers curling into his hair. Alistair arced his fingers enough to get Roselyn to lift her hips a fraction more off the bed, a better angle for them both requiring less strain. She rose onto her knees and he grasped her hip in one hand, the heel of it pressing down into her flesh. Holding his shaft with the other, he nudged the head of his cock against her wet heat, watching hazily his length begin to disappear inside her.

He entered her with deliberate, steady slowness, aware this was only the second time for them both and they were both still adjusting. Inch by inch he sheathed himself, her muscles squeezing around him. Their first time he was overwhelmed by it all, how her walls contracted, how hot she was around him, the sensations that almost sent him toppling towards his climax. Now was no different and it was an experience he would never tire of. Feeling her body around him, the way for a few moments they were united physically. It was something he had never felt before, something he would only ever feel with her, how naturally and easily he slotted inside her and how she accommodated him.

Roselyn curled her fingers into her pillows, tucking her bottom lip behind her teeth to muffle herself. Her face tensed a little, deep lines appearing between her brows and she sucked air through her teeth. Alistair smoothed the lines away with his thumb, littering butterfly kisses across her temple and over her cheeks.

"Rose," Alistair all much whined into her skin when she shifted for comfort. "Rose, talk to me. You alright?"

"I'm fine." She tilted her head as far back as she was able. "It's a bit different to earlier, that's all." She laughed through her nose, nuzzling his forehead.

"I know," he laughed too, his voice shaking. He withdrew a little and thrust into her, unhurried and deep, eyes rolling back into his head - the feeling of her around him made his stomach tighten. He reached his full length, pulled out and repeated the motion his strokes gradually growing faster, harder the more accustomed they both became. He smoothed one hand up her back, the other he pressed into her hip for support.

He kissed the back of her shoulders, rocking, driving his hips, moaning into her skin. The friction, the tightness of how she held her legs together between his thighs a distracting pleasure which mounted on top of the steady pace he built. His lips formed her name, brushing over her skin as his mouth lingered on her flesh, drawing up over her shoulders towards her neck. He nudged her hair away, kissed the hollow behind her ear and reached up to slide his fingers between those of her left hand beside her head.

"Maker, but you feel _so good_ ," he told her, words falling from his lips, a thoughtless declaration. Roselyn's breathing was laboured, her fingers squeezed around his and she arched her back up into his chest. Slipping his free hand underneath her, Alistair reached to tease at the hood of her mound with his fingers. Roselyn's hips jerked and a low moan tumbled out of her mouth. She tightened around him, Alistair's nostrils flared in his effort to remember to breathe. He drew the lengths of his fingers along her clit, laughing with each sudden jerk or buck Roselyn made in reaction to his touches. She moaned into her pillows, rocking her hips into his hand and into his building thrusts, working in time with him as best she could.

Roselyn closed her vacant hand around Alistair's at her mound, motioning and guiding him. He followed her hinting, circling his thumb across the sensitive bulb of nerves, flicking and nudging from above and below. Her voice descended into a low growl and she dropped her head forward, pressing it down into her pillows. She shook under the effort it took to keep her body arched off the bed, and Alistair trembled under the exertion he put upon himself not to rush.

The sound of flesh slapping as Alistair's hips snapped against her backside filled their room, intermingled with the occasional moan, or murmur of one of their names. He kissed her shoulder and bit down a little too hard making her wince and hiss. "Ow--"

"Sorry," There were teeth marks when he looked at her skin and he pressed his lips to the indentations to soothe them.

His breaths grew harder to take, shorter, brief gasps for air. His chest tightened, ribs feeling as though they were squeezing around his lungs. Roselyn's body seemed to burn underneath him growing hotter, the salt of her sweat becoming what he tasted each time he caressed his lips across her skin. His flesh tingled under the strain, his blood rushing through his veins, his heart thundered in his chest, filling his head with the sound.

Beneath him Roselyn's body spasmed suddenly. He flicked his fingers across her clit, garnering the same reaction and continued to tease, lips curved into a smile pressed to her shoulder. His wet fingers slipped clumsily over her, he groped and his brow furrowed in an attempt to focus. Still, his reckless fumbling appeared to go unnoticed as Roselyn bucked, lurched, and seemed to convulse underneath him. She gasped, sucking in air and held Alistair's hand between her thighs. A few more passes of his fingers and she came, crying out into her pillows and closing her hand around his to cease any movement. Her muscles tightened around his cock, Alistair groaned, pressing her forehead to her shoulder.

" _Shit,_ Rose," he breathed. He lapped at her skin and could feel her heartbeat reverberating back from within her chest. Her body twitched beneath him as he struggled to resume his steady pace. Dragging his mouth upwards, he nipped the cuff of her ear, easing his hand from between her legs to stroke up over her torso. He skimmed her ribcage, trailed over her breasts until his fingers were beneath her chin. Roselyn lifted her head, turned it and arched uncomfortably so Alistair could kiss her. She gasped into his mouth, curling her free hands around the back of his neck as he increased his speed, driving into her faster, deeper, slapping her skin with his.

Alistair grabbed her hand from behind his neck and pressed it down into the covers. He lay his forehead on her back, hot breath burning her skin, grunting under his effort to concentrate, to hold off as long as possible. His stomach was tightly wound in his gut, his muscles bunched and ached as if he had undergone a tourney.

Roselyn squeezed around him with each thrust. She pushed her hips back into his pelvis meeting each of his thrusts and parted her legs slightly creating a different depth and a new sensation which made sparks ignite behind Alistair's eyelids.  He kissed her spine, his groans shuddering, his breaths growing harder and harder to take. His movements grew more erratic; he dug his fingers into the palms of Roselyn's hands, driving into her recklessly. He tried to speak, tried to think of words and how to form them but his mind was nothing but burning pleasure and the tension building in his stomach. He groaned Roselyn's name on her skin. Everything inside him tightened and sprung a part as he came, his orgasm crushing him like a weight dangling over his head. His heart jerked in his chest and he chased his breath as fast as he was able, slowing his hips until he was still. Roselyn flopped down onto her front, breathing hard. Alistair's limbs felt wobbly and to lucid to move, so he remained snug inside her, wrapped his arms around her body and pressed his cheek to her sweaty back while they both caught their breath.

He kissed her skin, worshipped every inch of it what his lips could get to while breathing slow through his nose. Feeling began to return to his body in the form of painful pins and needles, like cramps creeping up from his foot into his legs first and then further up through his body. He fought off the sharp pain, biting down on it so not to disturbed the quiet, affectionate atmosphere which descended on him and his wife.

"You never told me about the book," Roselyn murmured after what might have been a minute or an hour. Alistair had grown drowsy in that time and lifted his head from where he rest it in the small of her back. Blinking blearily he squinted, trying to think of what she meant. Alistair slid out of her as Roselyn began to move. She rolled onto her back, and Alistair crawled towards her, nestling between her legs. As his arms slipped behind her, he rest his cheek on her breasts and snuggled against her body, mirroring the position they took before.

"What book?" he asked her, opening one eye.

"The book that you read? That told you how to do things."

"Oh." He stifled a yawn and kissed the swells of her breasts. "Well, you didn't give me much of a chance initially." He laughed. "It's actually a book banned throughout Thedas. It's by Brother Capria. The-"

"Art of Passionate Love?" Roselyn finished the title for him. He noticed the small grin she wore when he looked at her. "I came across a copy in The Wonders of Thedas a while ago," she explained. "Anora said there was a copy here... now I know why I couldn't find it."

A bark of laughter spilled out from Alistair's lips, the image of his bride trying to casually search the palace library for such a book amusing to him. "You can borrow it, if you'd like," he told her, rising up onto his arms to lay above her. "You just have to ask me _very_ nicely," he teased, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, do I now?" Roselyn inquired, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't like to read it together?" She tilted her head in a coquettish way, pursing her lips. "I thought that might be a fun exercise for us to do."

Chuckling, Alistair relinquished to her suggestion with a firm nod of his head. "I like your idea," he told her, placing a soft kiss to her lips. "But it's still in _my_ possession. You'll have to do _something_ to get its secret hiding place from me."

"You are such a--" Roselyn narrowed her eyes and whacked his shoulder. "A bastard!"

Alistair grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it before pressing it down into the covers beside her head. "I am," he kissed her, grinning against lips. "I really, _really_ am." Another kiss, more brief. "But you love me anyway."

Roselyn tutted and he watched her fight the smile that curved her lips. "That is a true." She admitted, almost begrudgingly. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I do love you."

"You know," Alistair began. He rolled onto his side pulling Roselyn with him so they faced one another. "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but... you're the first person to ever tell me they love me." He kissed her forehead, lips pulling into a crooked smile. "It's... nice to hear it." His voice was lower than he wanted it to be, but his emotion choked him. His honesty and how raw he felt in her presence made speaking difficult. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard down on the lump that settled there.

Roselyn's fingers trailed over his cheek, winding though his mussed hair. He dropped his head, peering down into her grey eyes, swimming with affection. "You should get used to hearing it," she told him, leaning into him and catching his lips with hers. He melted into her kiss, spreading his hands across her back to hold her closer. "I love you, Alistair," Roselyn told him with such sincerity it made his chest ache. "And I will do what I can to remind you every day just how loved you are."

"You're a wonder, Rose" Alistair stated with a low, contented sigh feeling the echo of sleep begin to beckon to him. "I am a _very_ lucky man..."

When he woke later, Alistair knew for certain it was morning. Sun streamed in through the windows - he and Roselyn had forgotten to draw the drapes _again._ Roselyn slept beside him, her naked body curled up into his side, and his left arm was sprawled out under her pillows. Yawning, Alistair stretched out his muscles, feeling them achy and tight, he assumed from the night's activities. He tried not to grin as the sights and smells returned to him. Their whole room reeked of the two of them, of their sweat and he was sure if he concentrated he would hear the sounds as if they were being made again.

As he woke, gradually allowing his body to grow accustomed to the light and noise of the morning, Alistair noticed beyond the walls and windows the noise rising from outside. The door to their bed chamber was locked, he knew that, but what he could hear was not far off. He wondered if there were people in the presence chamber trying to get in - it was unusual for doors to be locked in the palace and he had left the key in the lock which would have made the spare keys redundant.

Of the voices, the loudest he recognised was Teagan and he sounded frantic.

Teagan, always so composed and steady being panicked set his mind on edge. Alistair sat up and eased his arm out from underneath Roselyn's pillow. She stirred, opening one eye.

"Morning?"

"It's morning," he told her, climbing out of bed. He quickly pulled on the trousers and shirt he discarded the night before. "Something is happening," he added, briefly pressing a kiss to her temple. "You stay in bed, I'll go and find out what it is."

"You sure?"

"Mhm-hm." He pulled the covers up over her body and smoothed her hair away from her face. "You look like you could use the rest more than me." He grinned, kissed her again and crossed to the door swiftly.

He closed the door behind him once he was in the presence chamber. Teagan was there, but he was not alone. There was a messenger with him, a young boy, covered in dirt and mud, his skin pale and his eyes blood shot. He leaned on a table to stay upright, as if his weight was too much.

"Teagan?" Alistair announced himself, causing both Teagan and the boy to jump. They looked at him, their skin turning grey and dropping their eyes. Alistair grinned, fighting the strange nervous sensation clawing at his stomach. "What's the matter with the two of you? It's a beautiful morning."

"Alistair..." Teagan wrung his hands together. He carried with him an open letter. The sealing wax was a deep blue, traditional for the Orlesian court. "Alistair. You should... maybe sit down?" He gestured to the couch where Roo was sprawled out.

Alistair's smile faltered for a moment. He debated taking Teagan's offer but refused. Whatever he had to tell him couldn't be _that_ bad. "No, I'll stand." He crossed his arms, eyes darting between his uncle and the messenger. He noticed the boy wore Ferelden livery. Strange then, that he was carrying an Orlesian message. "What's wrong? Are the King and Cailan staying in Orlais another month?" He tried to be light-hearted in his speech and rocked from side-to-side to give the appearance he was unconcerned.

In truth he hated the way Teagan looked at him. So grave, his eyes dark and sunken, like he barely slept. He hated that the messenger boy was so quiet. That he looked at Alistair only a second at a time and then this gaze flitted away to a corner of the room or a table or towards the door whenever Alistair glanced at him. He was eager to leave, that much Alistair knew. The way they were behaving did not make his ominous feelings go away. Rather they increased, and his stomach turned heavy and leaden in his body.

"It's..." Teagan released a slow sigh, glancing down at the letter in his hand. He held it out to Alistair. "Read this, Alistair." Alistair took it from him. "I'm sorry," added Teagan.

Giving his uncle an uneasy glance, Alistair paced towards the window to read the message. It was written in a fine ornate hand which began so beautifully but was a shaking scribble by the end of the page. It was signed by the Empress herself, the seal of House Valmont pressed into wax beside her name.

_'To the noble Prince Alistair,_

_It is with a heavy heart I write to you of the gravest news. I am unsure where to start, so I feel I must start at the beginning._

_Perhaps you are unaware of the reason for your father and brother's visit to me here in Orlais. The amendments to the treaties between our nations was one such reason, but there was a more pressing matter which was the proposed marriage between myself and Prince Cailan to unite Orlais and Ferelden under a stronger banner. An idea which both King Maric and I wholly supported. What better way to strengthen an alliance than through marriage?_

_As you must be aware, the King, Prince Cailan and their retinue were to leave Orlais this past week, 12th Harvestmere. A risky time for such a journey over the rough and unpredictable seas of our waters, but your father assured me that the Queen Rowan was the sturdiest vessel in all Ferelden, that she could easily cut through the worst water and most foul weather. Who was I to disbelieve him?_

_After a grand send off, as customary here in Orlais, the ship left our harbour with King, Prince and their entourage aboard..._

_Your Highness, it is with deepest regret I must inform you that through gale force winds and treacherous seas, the ship did not survive the crossing. It ran aground on the rocks at the mouth of the harbour and quickly fell victim to the rough and freezing waters._

_I pray to the Maker the deaths of those aboard were swift and painless. Many bodies have washed up ashore here and I have had many of our finest guards and soldiers combing through the dead to find the King and your brother. As I write this letter now I can give you no news of them, whether they are dead or alive, but I will write again as soon as I know._

_My heart is heavy with the burden of these sad tidings, and I hope to be able to deliver good news of King Maric and Prince Cailan to you in good time. In the mean time, I only suggest we pray that the Maker deliver them both to us, unharmed._

_In deepest sympathy,_

_Empress Celene Valmont.'_

Alistair scanned the words again, the way Celene's writing grew less and less perfect the more she wrote. He picked out certain words and phrases, his mind buzzing with information. The ship ran aground. The people aboard dead in the freezing water. He reached for the couch to steady himself and slowly lowered himself into the seat. Roo moved out of the way.

"T-Teagan..." Alistair's voice trembled. He could not believe it. He _would not_ believe it. "There's nothing in here about my father? Or Cailan. Th... they're alive, aren't they?" He was begging, not just to Teagan but to the greater powers that the words on the letter he scrunched in his hand were not true.

The look in Teagan's eyes grew more sympathetic and he placed a hand on the messenger's shoulder. "This is Jack... He relieved a rider from Orlais in Crestwood. They were carrying this letter and it was to be delivered a letter into my hands for you. I haven't opened it." Teagan held out a second piece of paper, and it too had the dark blue sealing wax of Orlais. "I believe it's from the Empress."

Alistair stared at the piece of paper as if it were on fire, like it would hurt him. Bile threatened to rise up his throat and he gulped it down. His eyes stung with the salt of disbelieving tears. How could his life go from one extreme joy to _this_ in only a few minutes? Shaking his head, Alistair pressed his hand to his mouth. "What does it say, Teagan?"

"Alistair--"

"What does it say?!" he shouted, his voice cracking. Jack stiffened at the noise. Teagan sighed slowly, opened the letter which was half the size of the first one and took a breath.

 _"To his Highness, Prince Alistair,"_ he read. _"I said I would write to you again when I had news. My first letter was taken by messenger two days ago. In the mean time more Ferelden bodies have arrived on our shores. The search for the King and Prince Cailan bore fruit today._

_Your Highness, I will not describe the King or the Prince to you. Their appearance too monstrous for me to recall after so long in the water and being beaten upon the rocks by such rough tides. But it was them, Your Highness. I knew them from the signet rings they wore about their little fingers. I hope to Andraste their passing was swift and they felt no pain._

_Given the time it would take to transport their bodies to Denerim for a proper memorial, I have taken the liberty of conducting it here in Val Royeaux under the watchful eye of the Divine, with all the ceremony and care I know you would have taken to immortalise two such distinguished men. I send with this note their rings which I mentioned. I will send their ashes on to Ferelden so you and Maric's people may give them the funeral they deserve._

_I hope we can grieve together in this dark time. And that somehow the proposed alliance between our great nations can be forged."_

As Teagan concluded he handed the letter to Alistair which he snatched from his uncle. He read Celene's words once, twice, a third time hoping that he might find something, a joke, a cipher, anything to make their contents untrue. There was nothing. Her words remained the same, the meaning behind them the same.

Maric dead. Cailan dead. The King and crown Prince. His father and brother.

No. It wasn't true. It could not be true. Of all the things to happen to him, to happen to Ferelden this could _not_ be it. For all the battles and victories his father had won in liberating Ferelden from Orlais, dying because of a storm was not how he would choose to die. But he had not chosen to die. No one chose to die. They just died. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no fairness.

Celene had burned the bodies. _She_ had arranged everything and not consulted him. Alistair was denied the chance to see either his brother and father for himself. He was just to take her word for it. The cold worry in his body was replaced by sudden anger, making him burn inside while his extremities still stayed cold.

"How do we know Empress Celene hasn't got them imprisoned?" Alistair demanded, getting to his feet. "We ... We need to mount a rescue." He gripped blindly for logic, aware of how unlikely the scenario in his head was. "We need to march into Orlais and get them out. Summon Loghain, summon the Arls. Summon--"

"Alistair." Teagan's voice was heavy and stopped him in his panic. Alistair heaved a breath, fighting the urge to retch on his fear.

"What does this mean, Teagan?" Alistair pleaded with him, his face crumbling. "Please... I don't know..."

"It means..." Teagan stepped towards him and put his hands on his shoulders. His face was still, grave, eyes betraying no emotion. "The King is dead," he said slowly, pronouncing each word. He dropped down to one knee before Alistair, a bow of servitude and compliance. Jack copied Teagan while Alistair stared at them both in horror. "Long live the King."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading as always, much appreciated! Uh... sorry for the cliffhanger? (Sorry, not sorry!) As always, let me know what you think, your comments are super important to me and I appreciate them allllllll!  
> See you in the next chapter! <3


	18. Chapter 12: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks since the news of Maric and Cailan's demise reached Alistair and he remains in staunch denial, until proof reaches his hands. Shaken by the news, the grieving Prince suffers in silence while Roselyn feels powerless and unable to offer adequate support. A memorial service for the city of Denerim looms over them and Alistair must give a speech. They find comfort in each other, even if it's momentarily, and get ready to face the coming storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry for the long delay between the last chapter and this one. I won't go into it, suffice to say, updates should resume as normal and stay steady until the end of the fic. I hope!  
> \- As always, I have endless gratitude and love for my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [both on tumblr] who are both far smarter than me.   
> \- Chapter rating: Mature [nsfw]

* * *

 

_Two weeks later  
Month: Mid-Harvestmere_

-

The deaths of Maric and Cailan were kept hidden from the people of Ferelden until the urns carrying their ashes were delivered to the palace almost a week later. They arrived with as little ceremony as possible so not to draw attention, transported by four Orlesian chevaliers on white steeds. Alistair greeted them in the palace with Teagan and Roselyn and received the urns with as much grace as he could muster. Roselyn could see that the moment Alistair was given the urns everything suddenly became far more real.

In the week since the news was delivered Alistair remained in staunch denial. Teagan made the mistake of calling him 'Your Majesty' once or twice and was silenced with a sharp glare and an uncharacteristic bark of aggression. He carried on as if nothing had happened and when asked about the whereabouts of the King and Prince, he lied. He told courtiers, petitioners, and nobles alike that there was foul weather and the crossing was too risky.  He assured them, and Roselyn suspected himself, they would soon be back. Behind closed doors he weakly joked that it was a terrible prank planned and perfectly executed. He told himself and Roselyn over and over that the King and his brother would arrive at the palace in a week or two and laugh themselves sick at the terror they had subjected him to.

He considered it a cruel jest but would be pleased to see them. But when the urns were delivered into his hands, the joking stopped and the air of reticent denial seemed to dispel from around him.

The urns were as unremarkable as their arrival. Made of dark obsidian, they were plain to look at but shone in the light. Practical and simple in design, each with a lid and handles on both sides so they could be carried. They were not heavy, and the chevaliers kept them in a wooden box lined with deep blue velvet to keep their cargo safe. Alistair insisted the chevaliers remain in Denerim to rest for a night or two before they departed for Orlais again. They reluctantly agreed, more due to Alistair's desperate insistence than anything else.

On Alistair's confirmation, Teagan wrote out several missives and gave them to messengers to distribute to the Arls of Ferelden who would feed the information down to the Banns under their care. The message was brief and to the point:

_"Now is a time of great sadness and loss. Our beloved King Maric and crown Prince Cailan perished in the waters off the Orlesian coast this past 20th Harvestmere, and all the souls aboard the Queen Rowan with them. The Empress Celene is working with us at this time to return as many of those who died to their native land so they can receive proper burials and rites._

_As we mourn together at this time, you are invited by Prince Alistair to come to Denerim and share in the grief and sadness no doubt felt by all of Ferelden. Nightly vigils will be held, and a week hence there will be a public funeral for our lost King, Prince, and those we lost with them._

_Please inform this grave news to all. Have the heralds inform the people of Ferelden so they may mourn with us."_

There was an outpouring of letters and messages of condolence sent to the palace in the following days. Alistair arranged for the urns to be displayed under guard in the middle of Denerim so people could come and pay their respects. The Ferelden people flocked to their capital in their droves. Many brought with them offerings of gold, candles, and wreathes of flowers traditionally seen at wakes or funerals. Other simply offered their prayers and stood in quiet reflection before the temporary memorial.

With the common folk came the nobles, packing into the taverns and calling favours from all sides so they could stay. No one approached Alistair or Teagan asking to stay in the palace, nor asked either of them to pay for their lodging. Roselyn was surprised by just how respectful the nobles were during this early time of grief. She wrote to Anora, offering her sympathies and asking if she might return to the palace for the memorial service but did not expect a reply. She wondered how Anora must have been feeling. On the one hand, hers and Cailan's marriage was not perfect and the reason for his trip to Orlais was to broker an alliance with the Empress which would have resulted in the dissolution of Anora's own marriage. On the other, they had been married for almost six years, they grew up together, and despite everything there must have been an element of familiarity and friendliness between the two. Once at least... perhaps not any longer.

It was confusing to think of; all Roselyn could do was hope that Anora would return to the palace. And when she did - if she did - Roselyn hoped she could be of some comfort to her.

In the market square in Denerim, a funeral pyre was erected. It was for ceremonial purposes as there were no bodies of either Maric or Cailan to burn, but it was Duncan's idea that perhaps a physical funeral that people could attend would make the mourning easier on them. Teagan was in agreement, as was Fiona - who became emotional when the news was broken to her. Roselyn had the distinct impression they hoped the funeral, however ceremonial it was, might help Alistair too.

He was not handling things well.

After the urns were delivered he turned in on himself. When they went to bed, Roselyn would listen to him move around in the darkness beside her, keeping them both awake. Most nights he gave up trying to sleep after an hour and left their bed chamber to disappear somewhere else. She followed him once and found him sitting in the throne room, cross legged on the floor staring up at the huge, imposing throne his father once occupied with its carved mabari heads and layers of fur. She did not wish to disturb him and returned to their room so he could grieve in private. She did not want to push him, to force him to talk about how he felt. He would speak in his own time and when he was ready. She would not make him divulge his feelings even though she wanted to help him, and felt helpless at not being able to.

His lack of sleep, his grief, and the lack of food began to reflect in days. Deep hollows formed beneath his eyes and his skin lost colour. He seemed to grow smaller every day, his clothes almost swamping him and hanging off of his limbs. A traditional sign of mourning in Ferelden was to allow facial hair to grow long; Alistair was not exempt from the rule and within days a beard was rough across his chin and cheeks, making him appear older than his years.

Roselyn's worry for her husband gnawed away at her, far more than her own grief. And she did grieve for Maric and Cailan. Though her relationship with both men was not ideal, she mourned them as members of her extended family and more than that, she mourned them as Alistair's closest relatives. She could not imagine the pain he felt each time the thought of their deaths came upon him unbidden. She did not wish to think what she would feel, how she would act, if her father and brother were so suddenly and mercilessly taken from the world.

While Alistair crumbled underneath the weight of his sadness, Roselyn tried to remain strong and steadfast at his side. On days where he was too tired to stand, she coaxed him to bed and ran her fingers through his hair until he allowed himself to doze against her body. She convinced him to eat a little each time, but never pushed for more than Alistair would do. It was a slow process and one she took as much care over as was possible.

Of course, not all his lethargy was down to the loss of his father and brother. He was faced with the daunting prospect of being King. A position he was told over and over again would never be his now was by right of inheritance. He was Maric's son, the legitimate heir to the throne of Ferelden, and it was a position Alistair did not want. He had no desire to rule or be King. He possessed no wish for glory or accolades. It was one thing to rule well as regent in his father's stead, but to rule for good was bigger than that. It was more terrifying, and so much more would weigh upon his shoulders... So much responsibility he did not want.

When Teagan approached the subject of coronation two days before the memorial was to take place, Alistair immediately declared the need for a Landsmeet. A gathering of all the nation’s nobles, Teyrns, Arls, and Banns so they could decide who should rule. There were other candidates aside from Alistair: Arl Eamon was Queen Rowan's brother and had a claim. Even Roselyn's own father, Bryce, was an off shoot of the Calenhad blood line - he too had a claim. Alistair insisted with more than one claimant a Landsmeet was the only way forward and with all the nobles visiting Denerim for the memorial it was the perfect opportunity.

Teagan reluctantly agreed and arranged for the gathering to take place a week after the memorial, that way any nobles who were not in the city had time enough to get there.

The evening before the public memorial was to be held, Alistair disappeared early to bed after hardly touching his food. The palace was quieter than Roselyn ever heard it. Servants shuffled about doing their work dressed in their darkest clothes. The drapes in the main hall were changed from the bold scarlet and gold of the Theirin family to black, grey and deep purple colours for the mourning period. Food was kept plain, simple, another Ferelden tradition during times of grief. All the pomp and ceremony came to a halt and life became nothing but quiet contemplation and sadness.

With Alistair gone and Duncan and Teagan in quiet conversation further along the table, Roselyn picked at her food and fed scraps to Roo under the table. Fiona, who started staying at the palace after the news of Maric was delivered, came and sat by her which was surprising. The two of them spoke little since since Fiona's arrival. She was often busy down at the Alienage, teaching the healers and dealing with any new illnesses or upsets. When she was not there, she did not spend much time with other people. Roselyn saw her most in the company of Duncan and if ever she stopped to speak to them, Fiona made her excuses and left.

"Is he eating much?" Fiona asked her. Roselyn did not have to ask who she meant. She stared at the door Alistair disappeared through.

"Bits and pieces," she answered. "He's... struggling."

"It's difficult for you, I imagine," Fiona said. Her accent was Orlesian but it was so faint that it was sometimes hard for Roselyn to make out. "You've not been married long and to face something so tragic..."

"Yes..." Roselyn murmured, her tone guarded and her defences up. She was suspicious of people asking her about Alistair. Courtiers were always looking for a weakness or a foothold, some way to discover information which they could use. Fiona was someone Roselyn did not know and that made her more wary. Courtiers were predictable and vain. Fiona was foreign - she was someone Roselyn did not know beyond her name and her familiarity with Duncan and Maric.

"You're suspicious of me," Fiona pointed out after a brief silence. Roselyn lifted a brow. She had not thought her caution so obvious. "It's quite all right. People have always been suspicious of me. An elf and a mage... who would not be?"

"That's not why I'm suspicious," Roselyn answered her without a second thought. She did not want to insult her. The fact that Fiona was an elf and a mage never crossed her mind. "Alistair is..." She sighed, "I care for him a great deal. I am concerned people will use his grieving to try and get to him. To... influence him somehow. I didn't mean to cause offense." She picked at a piece of bread, taking a small bite and then tearing a chunk off for Roo.

"None taken, Your Highness," Fiona gave a slight bow of her head. She was silent a few seconds, drumming her fingers along the table. Roselyn did not look at her or speak, she waited. There was something Fiona wished to talk about and would do so in her own time. "It makes me very happy to hear you say you care for him."

Roselyn's brow furrowed a little, she turned her gaze on the elven woman. "Why?" she inquired, curious.

"Many women in your position would not be so open with their sentiments," Fiona spoke slowly, thinking her words before she said them. "I also understand Alis-- the Prince has had something of a difficult upbringing. I only meant I am glad that something positive has come into his life."

"Yes..." Roselyn trailed. Something in her mind resonated, alarm bells ringing, telling her to tread carefully. Fiona was as guarded as Roselyn was. Just looking at her, Roselyn could see her almost planning the conversation and what she would say. She was checking Roselyn as much as she was gauging her. "We were both lucky enough to like each other. Considering this marriage was arranged and we met only once before I came here."

"Once?"

"Apparently," nodded Roselyn, "he came to Highever when the marriage contract was written up. He was eight, I think, I would have been six. I don't remember anything of the visit."

"Why would you?" A small smile graced Fiona's mouth. She did not have the look of a woman who smiled often, or had much to smile about but Roselyn examined her face when she did. She looked younger, and like Anora, her eyes crinkled at the corners. "I imagine he would have been much the same as when he was a baby. Such a happy child..."

Roselyn quirked her head to one side, eyes narrowing slightly. "You... knew Alistair as a baby?"

"I..." Fiona stumbled a little, pale green eyes avoiding Roselyn's gaze.

"Were you in Redcliffe?" pressed Roselyn, leaning towards Fiona in her seat. "Did you know Alistair's mother?" She grabbed for Fiona's hand without thinking. The other woman drew it away before Roselyn could grasp it. "Please, Alistair knows nothing of his mother," she lowered her voice, aware of keen ears always listening. "Only that she was an elf and a servant in Redcliffe castle."

"A servant?" Fiona's brows shot up. "Is that what he was told?"

"You _did_ know her!"

Fiona shook her head, retreating, "I have said too much, Your Highness."

"No, Fiona. Please, don't leave," Roselyn leaned forward. "If you knew his mother I think he might appreciate hearing about her. It might help somehow."

"How?" Fiona's face was still and cold, betraying no emotion. "How would learning about her, who she reallyi-- _was_ help?"

"It might help him not feel quite so alone," spoke Roselyn, impassioned. "He's lost the only blood family he has ever known. If you know something of his mother, anything, a name, what she looked like..." Trailing she realised just how foolish the idea was. Knowing anything about his mother would not distract him from the deaths of his father and brother. If anything it would be a reminder of another family member he had lost. Another reminder that he was alone. Pushing her fingers across her temple, Roselyn groaned. "Never mind." She sighed, "Stupid idea."

Fiona shifted in her seat. Her body grew stiff, controlled but she was poised to move at a moment's notice. She reached a tentative hand towards Roselyn and touched her wrist. "He has you. How is he alone?"

"I'm not Maric. Or Cailan," answered Roselyn with a helpless shrug. "Despite the strained relationship between them, Alistair loved and respected them both. This... it has hit him very hard." Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her worry. She realised this was the first time she spoke of her concerns and it felt good to off load a little. "I don't know what to say to make things better."

"Nothing makes loss easier to bare," Fiona murmured, her voice low with the solemnity of experience. "The deaths of Maric and Cailan have hit us all hard. The effects of it will be felt for months."

"What can I do?" Roselyn felt helpless. "I'm not good at this. I never know what to say."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Fiona's mouth, "Tell him you are not good at it. But let him know you are there for him when and if he needs you. And he _will_ need you in the months to come. If he is to take up the throne..."

"I don't think he wants to," said Roselyn, quietly stroking Roo's head. "I think he wants the Landsmeet to elect someone else. He never expected to be King and I think the whole idea terrifies him. I'll support him, whatever he chooses, but I don't want to make the choice for him."

"I would think his reluctance a good thing," Fiona pursed her lips. "I would never have expected him to sit on the throne when I held him as a baby..." Her smile and tone turned wistful. "Then again, I never expected to see him again after he was..." Fiona's gaze snapped to Roselyn as she appeared to fall into the room. One moment lost in her memories, the next fractured back into reality. "When I left Redcliffe." She amended, clearing her throat uneasily.

Roselyn narrowed her eyes a little, Fiona's words putting her on edge. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably and the guard Roselyn had slowly allowed to drop locked into place around her.

"That you care for him so much speaks well of you," Fiona said coolly. "He should be King, and he will have my support should he require it. Will you tell him that?" She asked, getting to her feet.

"Yes," Roselyn offered a curt nod, her voice clipped. "Of course."

Fiona tried to smile as she stood but it looked more like a wince. "I fear I have taken enough of your time, Your Highness." She curtsied. "If I don't speak to you again, please have pleasant rest of the evening."

Roselyn sat in reflective silence for a few minutes. She watched Fiona return to her seat and enter into conversation with Teagan and Duncan. Her mind was busy with thoughts of how she could help Alistair and their future. If the Landsmeet went forward and Maric's wishes were respected then not only would Alistair be King, but she would be Queen. As station neither she or Alistair dared to imagine they would possess. There was no telling how that change would affect them as people or their marriage.

She believed, despite what Alistair thought, that he would thrive in ruling Ferelden. Perhaps he would be reluctant at first, but if anything the last two months proved Alistair had qualities which endeared him to the Ferelden people. He was stronger than he gave himself credit for and in time Roselyn was confident he would grow into the role.

Being Queen was different. There was more than just looking attractive and being gracious. She would be required to provide more than one heir, a concept now familiar to her. She knew Queen Rowan had more authority with Maric but was not sure if that practice would return if Alistair was King. So far her input in council sessions was minimal. She was there more for appearances and for Alistair's support. If she was Queen there was no knowing if the council members would continue to treat her with distain or if they would allow her more opportunity to speak and be heard.

Of course, her wondering was nothing but that. For all she knew the Landsmeet could elect someone else to be King. The Landsmeet would decide when it was gathered, and until then there were more pressing matters for her to focus on: the memorial the following day and her husband's wellbeing.

Pushing her plate away, Roselyn got to her feet in a fluid motion. Those around her stood in respect and the guards stationed at doors all stiffened and straightened. She bid those around her a curt, brief goodnight and left without another word. Walking through the palace at a brisk pace with Roo following behind her, she kept her head down so not to be drawn into conversation and closed the doors to hers and Alistair's rooms firmly behind her.

Within the safety of what she considered their sanctuary she released a long sigh and her shoulders dropped. An ache spread across the top of her back from how tense she was holding herself all the time. Here she could be weary and show it - out there, even amongst friends, it would have been perceived as weakness.

Roselyn gave herself a moment. She took a deep deliberate breath, concentrating on the sensation of her chest expanding. As she left the door she reached behind her for the ties of her bodice and pulled them loose while walking into their shared bed chamber. A few candles were still alight, though Alistair was sprawled out under the covers with a book open on his chest, asleep.

Quietly she undressed and changed into one of Alistair's shirts before beginning to pace and brush her hair through. Hanging up on the outside of a closet were the clothes she and Alistair would wear the next day. Mourning weeds in black and dark purple made of heavy velvet to protect from the cold and to hide any shaking. The following day was going to be long and tiring for everyone involved. Though purely ceremonial and for show, the memorial was to be treated as a real funeral, as though there were real bodies to burn. In place of Maric and Cailan, effigies were constructed of wicker and shrouded in linen. Their signet rings and the King's chain would be placed on the "bodies" and burned with them. Then the urns containing the ashes of their real bodies were to be safely interred within the Theirin crypt beneath the palace.

Returning her brush to her vanity, Roselyn ushered Roo in from the other room and the hound hid under the bed, her preferred sleeping place. Roselyn walked around the bed and retrieved the book Alistair was reading, folding it back together and putting it on the table beside him.

He moved faster than Roselyn could follow, his hand closed around her wrist and he pulled her down towards him. She managed not to shriek, bumping her nose into his chest as he sat up and she all but fell into his lap.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologised, stroking the bridge of her nose. "I thought that would be romantic..." Roselyn sat back on her haunches, kneeling over his legs.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was dozing," shrugged Alistair, "I wanted to wait up for you, but I wasn't sure when you'd come to bed."

"You _should_ be asleep. You need to look fresh faced tomorrow." Roselyn cupped his face, tracing her thumb across his mouth. She examined him, the heavy bags beneath his eyes and the bloodshot appearance of them. "And you need the rest."

"I'm fine," Alistair scoffed and forced a smile. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Sleep is for Princes who are going through a lot," Roselyn corrected him, her tone gentle. "I know you're struggling..." She dropped her gaze, trying to think of what to say. What could she say that would be comforting? He had heard all the sympathies and _'I'm sorry for your loss'_ from more people she cared to think about. She could not add anything new to the mix. Nothing better or some magic words which would somehow wash all the pain away. "I wish I was better at this."

"Better at what?" He hooked his fingers under her chin and leaned forward until he was nuzzling her forehead. Roselyn relished the closeness. The intimacy that privacy afforded them and was not lost despite the recent events. She lay her hands on his shoulders shifting towards him, tempted by his warmth.

"At being a comfort to you. Being supportive. Being... just being there," she offered a weak smile. "I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel like you're facing this alone, I don't know how to handle this very well."

"Why would I feel like I'm alone?" asked Alistair, an uncharacteristic severity to his voice. "Rose, why would you know how to handle this? I don't know how to handle this." He laughed in spite of himself. Roselyn watched him ruffle a hand through his hair. "You still sleep in the same bed as me. You get me to rest when you know I need it... This is hard for the both of us. I think, given the circumstances, we're doing about as well as can be expected."

A smile tugging at the corner of her lips, Roselyn pressed a kiss to his mouth, curving her fingers around the back of his neck. As she pulled away, Alistair angled his head and chased her, capturing her lips in a harder kiss. He curled one hand around the base of her skull, the other pressed into her hips urging her closer to him. Despite her momentary surprise, Roselyn reciprocated, sliding her fingers up into his hair, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, easing her tongue past Alistair's lips.

They had barely kissed since the news was delivered, and not in the same way they did now - not with heat and desire punctuated between every caress and breath. Warmth pooled in her belly, her stomach curling over itself. She pressed her body flush to Alistair's chest, obeying his guiding hand. She sank down into his lap and could feel how he dug his fingers into her skin and urged her closer. She could not deny the thrill of need she felt, how desperate she was to feel him inside her again but it seemed wrong to even consider it given what had happened.

With some effort, she broke the kiss, dropping her head so Alistair could not simply kiss her again. She pressed her hands against his chest, taking a long, steadying breath in the efforts to make her head stop swimming.

"What's wrong?" Alistair asked her, his voice hoarse.

"We shouldn't," Roselyn mumbled, leaning far enough forward that the top of her head pressed against Alistair's chest. "We're in mourning. It doesn't seem... right." A soft chuckle rumbled in Alistair's chest. Roselyn jerked her head up to look at him and saw him _really_ smiling for what might have been the first time in a week. Her confusion melted and she stroked her fingers through his short beard to better see his expression. "There's that smile I love so much." She curled tufts of his hair around her fingers, feeling her cheeks grow warm from the affectionate look he treated her to.

"Have I told you that I love you?" Alistair inquired, tilting his head to one side.

Roselyn mimicked him, her mouth a shy grin. "You might have mentioned it in passing."

Alistair sighed before clearing his throat. "Rose, this past week has been..." He tutted after going silent for a few seconds. " _Hard._ " He choked out the word. "Harder than anything I've ever had endure, and it's not going to get easier quickly. But right now with you is the first time I haven't felt... like the world is falling apart around me." Alistair peered up at her, eyes as sincere as his words. It made Roselyn's chest ache to see him look so lost; she curved a hand around his cheek stroking underneath his eye with her thumb. He covered her hand with his and turned his head to brush his lips across her palm. "With you, it's as if I can see that there is a way to survive this and come out the other side. With you, I can feel something other than hopeless."

They were both quiet, looking at each other in the low gloom of their room. The next day would be trying and exhausting. They would both feel the after effects of it for some time. But that was tomorrow - right now they had each other. A tiny flicker of goodness to keep them both going until the darkness of what had occurred started to clear. Being together would grant them both a sense of clarity, a brief period away from the chaos and unrest surrounding them, a moment for themselves to remind them both not everything was falling apart. They still had each other in amidst the insanity.

Without warning, Roselyn captured his lips in a hard kiss. The bristles of his beard tickled beneath her nose as Alistair angled his head and leaned into the gesture. One of his hands curved up around the back of her head at the base of her skull, fingers tangling within her hair, the other grasping hungrily at her hip guiding her closer and lower into his lap. Roselyn complied, draping her arms around his neck when she was close enough and helped in kicking the blankets away from his body with her feet.

There was no care, no preamble as they had been the first time. Everything was raw and heated, and there was a desperate need to feel and be felt. To forget the pain for even a few minutes would be a relief, to fall into each other and pretend the rest of the world did not exist.

Alistair pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it towards the back of the room as Roselyn dropped her head to kiss and bite down on his neck. His fingers scratched across her back making her arch and hiss to the sharp momentary pain. Roselyn inched his bed clothes down over his hips and thighs, giggling at his eagerness when he kicked them off. She lavished his cock with long slow strokes and smeared a pearl of pre-cum across its head, smirking against Alistair's throat at the sounds of breathless enjoyment which tumbled from between his lips. He arched his head against the headboard, biting back groans as she stroked him, pumping his length and tightening her hand around his girth.

Working her way down his chest, she left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, nipping lightly at his stomach and abdomen and shimmying down his legs. She curled a tuft of hair around her ear, glancing up at her husband for a moment before grasping the tiny flame of courage in her chest. Alistair's hips bucked at the first flick of her tongue against the head of his cock, he gasped, his fingers tightened into her backside, tearing at her small clothes. Another flick and Roselyn heard the fabric rip and loosen at one side. She dropped lower, taking the swollen head of his cock into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it experimentally.

"Rose..." Alistair groaned above her, one his hands caressed over her back and into her hair, pulling it all to one side; the other he placed tentatively on the top of her hair, a touch so light she barely felt it. Opening her mouth further, Roselyn lowered her head and stroked his shaft in one hand, using the other to support her weight on his thigh. She wrapped her lips tight around him and hollowed her cheeks. With her tongue pressing into the underside of his member she began to suckle and bobbed her head. She grazed her teeth along him, slurped greedily, her own spittle coating her hand. His cock throbbed in her fingers, twitching in her mouth and she could taste the sharp tang of his seed on her tongue the more she worked him.

He was breathless and powerless above her, gasping, grunting, making incoherent pleas, and repeating her name over and over like a mantra. He tightened his hand in her hair which made her wince and brought her to a stop only to begin driving his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her mouth with desperate, weak little moans peppered between his frantic breaths. Roselyn tightened her mouth around him, winding her tongue inexpertly in a way she hoped he enjoyed. She peered up through her eyelashes, watching Alistair swallow his breaths, the movement of his throat with his head arcing back.

When he tightened his hand again, Roselyn squeaked at the sharp pain and pulled her head away, massaging her fingers across her scalp.

"Sorrysorry!" Alistair released her, his expression distraught and his face a deep scarlet. A thin film of sweat coated his brow. "I'm sorry!" He inclined towards her, sliding hid hands across her face and pressing kisses to her forehead. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Are you alright? I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Stop apologising." Roselyn kissed his lips and climbed up the bed until she was back over his lap. She pressed one hand into his chest leading Alistair until he was leaning back against the wooden board of the bed. "You only pulled my hair, it's not the end of the world."

"But you--" Alistair's words cut off, his gaze following Roselyn's hands down as she toyed with the torn edge of her small clothes. She lifted a brow at him and he offered a sheepish smile. "I'll get you a new pair."

She rolled her eyes, "Because I certainly lack for small clothes." Roselyn chuckled and pulled them off, discarding them beside the bed.

"Well, you know..." Alistair shrugged, "They might be your favourite pair, for all I know."

"They're not." Rising up onto her knees, Roselyn wrapped her hand around his length, stroking it across her slit and between her damp folds. Alistair dug his hands into her thighs, the pressure of his fingers almost bruising. Slowly she guided him inside her, sinking down into his lap inch by inch. She stretched to accommodate him, wincing a little at the position and the intrusion, waiting for her body to adjust. She curved her free hand around the back of Alistair's neck, he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in time with her, his eyes closed.

"Sweet Maker, Rose," he breathed, voice hoarse and strangled. "You are _so..._ " His words trailed into a groan as Roselyn moved clumsily, grinding her hips, biting down on her bottom lip at how  unsteady she was. He was inside her up to the hilt and, just as before, she felt odd... somehow fuller with him inside her, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. She moved again, driving her hips forward and swallowing down hard at the ripple of pleasure she felt at the action. She braced her hands against Alistair's shoulders for support; rocking, grinding, struggling to find a rhythm, and stick to it.

He lifted one hand, skimming his thumb along the curve of her breast and encircling it around her back, spreading his fingers wide. His other hand remained at her hip, a silent, guiding weight where he led her at a pace which suited them both.

Soon they were both stealing sharp breaths. Roselyn's body grew hotter with every roll of her hips, and she felt as though her blood was singing in her veins, her heart thundering against her ribs. Alistair's mouth hung open, his quick exhalations stinging her lips. She stole kisses when possible, but never for long. She could not tear her eyes away from him. Alistair fought to keep his eyes open, but when they were he looked at her with such intensity and ardour that it made her flesh tremble and, even  completely naked as she was, she felt more vulnerable than ever. His eyes almost seemed to glow in the low light, boring into her, brows furrowed in effort and concentration. His tongue licked at his bottom lip once, and he nipped at her lips when they came within reach.

Behind her, Roselyn felt Alistair curve both his arms around her back. She followed his silent instruction, rising higher onto her knees and leaning towards him. Her chest flush to his, her stomach coiled and tightened as he began to thrust his hips upwards, driving his length into her. The smell of his sweat filled her nose and the sounds of his frantic breaths were all she heard, even over the sound of their skin meeting and the blood pounding in her head. Alistair smothered her up against him, his pelvis grinding against the hood of her sex causing the nerves in her belly to fizzle excitedly.

Alistair held her in place, hands steadfast, fingers grabbing greedily into the flesh of her backside. Roselyn tucked her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the earthy scent of him, tangling her arms around his shoulders clutching to him in a feeble attempt to stay grounded. She raked her nails across his skin, relishing the soft gasp he made. He massaged her buttocks in his hands, his pace growing faster, his breaths coming sharper. Roselyn's body grew tight, her skin feeling almost aflame. Her muscles constricted, her legs shook and she shattered in his hands, everything coming loose and releasing as her whole body quaked.

Roselyn kissed him hard, gasping into his mouth. She shivered, trembling through the ebbing waves of her climax. Nuzzling her forehead to Alistair's she murmured over and over, all but begging him to let go in desperate, broken whispers. He held her close, eyes squeezing shut and hands sliding up her sweat slicked back. When he kissed her, she tasted his sweat on his lips, the tip of his tongue teased over her bottom lip and he buried himself inside her, his body going ridged. Fulfilled groans spilled into her mouth with each slower, shallower drive of his hips until he was still and they were both chasing their breath.

She remained kneeling over Alistair, the two of them trembling, their sweat quickly drying but neither of them willing or ready to move - the closeness and unity of the moment something they both needed. His kisses on her lips were soft, reverent; he worshipped her mouth, catching his breath in tandem with her. She felt his hands trailing up and down her back, clearing her hair away where her sweat caused it to stick. His touch was gentle, and she could see from his expression and how he held his shoulders a certain tension was gone from him.

He gazed at her, eyes swimming and she watched them move across her face as if imprinting her in his memory. The honey-brown colour of them she was accustomed to was almost warm amber, and the dark circles of exhaustion did not seem so pronounced now.

"I love you," Alistair leaned his forehead against hers, his voice low, husky, and almost pained when he spoke. " _So_ much."

Roselyn kissed his brow, "I love you." She smoothed her fingers through his hair, kissing down over the straight bridge of his nose until she placed a gentle kiss on his lips. He returned it, curling her hair behind her ears.

"We can get through this," he looked at her, his mouth quirking weakly to one side. "Can't we?"

"We can," Roselyn gave her affirmation in a firm nod. "We'll get through it together."

"Together," repeated Alistair, his speech growing drowsy. "Together."  
  
\---

In the morning, they both washed and dressed quickly helped into their dark clothing by servants. They ate in the hall with Teagan, Fiona, and Duncan and made their way through Denerim in a carriage to the site of the pyres waiting to be burned. It was crisp and cold, the first signs of winter appearing as frost on the windows and the ground. There  was a biting chill in the wind when it blew. Roselyn was grateful that her clothing was thick heavy velvet - she would have shivered through the whole ceremony otherwise.

The streets were lined with people, hundreds of them out in dark clothing, armed with candles and flowers. They came to pay their respects and see the burning of the likenesses of their King and crown Prince.

A platform was erected a short distance from the pyres. When they arrived, there were guards piling on bundles of kindling so the flames would catch quicker and the Revered Mother of Denerim's Chantry was there to meet them on the platform.

Commoners mingled openly with nobles, every person vying for a space close to the platform where Alistair was to make a speech. Roselyn saw her father in the crowd with Fergus and nodded to them when they saw her staring. She knew they arrived in Denerim for the Landsmeet only because of Fergus' letter sent ahead of time. They refused to stay at the palace, despite Alistair's invitation, so Roselyn intended to visit them at where they were staying when things calmed down.

Teagan settled the crowd to silence, handing over to Alistair who was shaking under his heavy doublet and cloak. He flexed his hands, knuckles white, his fingers trembling from cold and from fear. When Roselyn took his hand she could feel how clammy his palm was. He squeezed her fingers and she watched him swallow, thinking his words before he said them to the gathered crowd.

"I was never good at speeches," he began, staring at the edge of the platform down to the cobbled street below. "Cailan could charm the birds form the trees and my father could rally men to his side in the most dire of circumstances. Their gift of speech craft skipped a generation with me, I'm afraid, but I'll do my best." There was a small ripple of laughter. Alistair's mouthed curved at the corner and Roselyn heard him inhale deeply.

"The... loss of our beloved King and Prince has shaken us all, I know. It is something no one ever expects to happen, and when it does it seems too unreal to be true. I wake up every morning expecting to see them at the end of my bed, grinning, laughing at my expense..." He swallowed, clearing his throat and Roselyn gave his hand another light squeeze beside him. "But it's true. They aren't coming back and, uhm..." Choking, he ruffled a hand through his hair. He looked blindly back at Teagan and then out over the crowd. "We... We have to move forward. They won't be forgotten - who could forget two such big personalities, after all." Another soft laugh. Roselyn saw a few people mopping their eyes with their sleeves. Across the square, guards stood with lit torches, ready to ignite the pyres.

"These losses have wounded Ferelden, wounded us all in ways we didn't know was possible," continued Alistair. "I never expected to be here before all of you, delivering this speech. My father always struck me-- struck all of us as indestructible, like nothing but a High Dragon could take him down. Cailan appeared to be taking after him in that regard..." He glanced at Teagan again, who gave an encouraging nod. "It takes time to mourn a loss, and to recover from one as massive as this... I know some days will be better than others, and at first the days are going to be painful and dark. It will seem as though they are without end. But..." His hand closed around Roselyn's, surprising her. She stroked his arm, watching him clench his jaw, the threat of tears in his eyes as he fought to hold them back.

"But we should all take comfort in knowing they are at the side of the Maker. We should remember them for the deeds they accomplished and the men they were... We should remember that good can come from the darkest and most terrible of events." A tear escaped the corner of Alistair's eye and he quickly brushed it away with his sleeve. "We should remember my brother and my father, your Prince and King, as the good, bold, men they were... and honour their memories remembering them at their best."

A respectful applause arose from the crowd. People lit their candles as attention turned to the pyres. The Revered Mother led those gathered in a prayer and several versus from the Chant of Light while the men holding the torches began to light the kindling and the flames began to rise. The facades of Cailan and Maric caught quickly, the material burning up as the wood spat and cracked under the heat. People threw garlands of mourning flowers into the flames, watching as they grew higher and higher until the fire appeared to be almost the same height as the Chantry.

The air grew heavy with smoke and suffocating heat. The Chantry bells rang, solemn and slow, the sound of the flames cracking and popping the only other thing heard over the mournful drone.

Roselyn may not have known Maric or Cailan well and she may not have liked them much, but even she was caught up in the emotion of the ceremony. She dabbed her eyes when they started to water and clung close to Alistair's side, hoping her presence was as much a comfort to him as his was to her. The standards erected around the pyres flapped, pulled by the wind and billowed by the rising heat of the flames. People started to grow restless and departed quietly, leaving those who wished to remain to do so.

Slowly, the crowds dispersed, people returning to their work, their homes, and their families now the memorial was over. Teagan left, taking Fiona back to the palace and out of the cold. Even as the flames died and the last of the pyres crumbled to ash and charcoal, Alistair watched the embers glow, appearing almost drawn and hypnotised by them. Roselyn remained at his side - she would leave until he was ready. Duncan stayed with them both until the pyres were burned down. He did not speak to either of them, lost in his own private sorrow but walked with them back through the city to the palace in sombre silence.

With the memorial over, it was time to ready themselves for the Landsmeet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate your patience in waiting for this chapter, and you taking the time to read it!  
> Please let me know what you think as always, I love to hear feedback! Conclusion to this chapter should be up in a couple of weeks. <3


	19. Chapter 12: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week on from the memorial and it's time for the Landsmeet to gather and decide who should be King. It looks like a clear choice between Alistair, Bryce Cousland, and Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. There is a fourth potential candidate that no one considered who is an impressive challenger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter rating: Teen  
> \- Super love to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen [both on tumblr] for their endless patience.

* * *

 

_One week later._

The week leading up to the Landsmeet was worse than the week leading up to the memorial. Every day Alistair was pulled in different directions as nobles arrived at the palace with their entourages and needed to be housed. Those who were staying in the local taverns decided they could invade the palace once the memorial was over. Alistair had to greet then all in turn with Teagan and Roselyn. He was forced to make small talk and tried to steer the conversation away from the Landsmeet and the decision to be made about who would now rule Ferelden.

He did not want to be King. He had not been groomed for such a position like Cailan had been from birth. He was not the man his father was. He was not a battle hardened leader who could make the hard choices when it counted. He was not a military leader and he was not a hero. He was a half-elf and a bastard who got lucky - or unlucky – depending on the point of view.

Every noble he spoke to who arrived for the gathering offered their sympathies. Alistair heard them so much he could guess which over used phrase he would hear just by looking at the expression a person wore. Each person was full of praise for Maric and Cailan and Alistair heard farfetched anecdotes about them when they had been alive. He listened graciously as he was supposed to. He accepted the sympathies offered and the words of comfort and did not turn anyone away when they arrived at the palace. He even made a regular visits to the taverns were some nobles chose to stay.

The days were the hardest. The endless talking, smiling, and manners, the constant stream of people he had to greet and talk to, the repetitive 'thank you's' for their words of comfort in such a trying time... Everywhere he turned, friends and companions of his father offered their condolences and their assistance should Alistair require it. All the offers were veiled of course. Noble families looking for a way to better their station or use the chaos in the wake of the King and Princes death to advance themselves - to shatter old alliances and forge new ones.

Only in the evening in the privacy of his and Roselyn’s chambers could Alistair really relax. He could almost feel the tension flow out of him when he or Roselyn closed the doors. His shoulders loosened and the constant throb behind his eyes grew less pronounced.

Roselyn asked nothing of him. She listened when he talked, rambling on and on about this noble or that. She offered her opinion when he asked for it, and when he ran out of things to say, she found ways to get his mind focused on other less distressing things. She talked about Fiona, about Duncan, and the Alienage as construction continued and neared completion. In the wake of his father’s death, Alistair was unable to find time to go and oversee things. After seeing her father and brother, she was full of stories about Highever, about her niece and nephew, and was already making plans for them to visit when things in Denerim settled down.

At night they found themselves entwined in one another. Hot breaths mingling while hotter skin and limbs tangled together until they were both quaking, shuddering, and spent, holding each other close as their sweat dried.

Alistair did not feel shame for their actions. Being with Roselyn helped him, allowed him time to forget everything happening outside their chambers. It was selfish, and they told no one that they were so active during this time of solemn mourning, but he could not bring himself to feel guilty. Whether she knew it or not, she kept him sane. She was constant and steadfast, quiet in her support but always there at his side. When he fell asleep or woke in her arms, he thanked the Maker for bringing her into his life.

The day of the Landsmeet began with an eruption of movement and crowing. Teyrn Loghain arrived at the palace on horseback shortly after dawn. He came alone and without any forewarning, catching servants and staff unawares. They were left reeling and scrambled to make a room ready to the Teyrn while he was given food and ale to warm him in the kitchens. As general in the Ferelden army, Loghain was more than just respected throughout Ferelden. He was revered and almost every village had their own heroic tales surrounding the Hero of River Dane.

He was in part responsible for Maric reclaiming the Ferelden throne, a staunch friend and ally to Maric, and a noble the common people could relate to given his inauspicious start. He did not come to court often – in fact Alistair could recall only three times that Loghain came to the palace and stayed for any length of time. One instance was Anora’s wedding to Cailan. The other two were at Wintersend, the year of Anora’s marriage and the year after. Following that Loghain stayed in Gwaren and communicated only through letters and messengers.

Alistair recalled how Maric was always full of stories about Loghain, how he saved his life on more than one occasion, and how he was the best military mind in the South. Maric always held the Teyrn on a lofty pedestal, as did Cailan following Maric’s stories since his boyhood. Alistair was not so keen. They were introduced each time Loghain was at court, but Loghain ignored Alistair for the most part, viewing him as many did - as the fool and Maric's bastard.

Now, Loghain looked down his nose at Alistair when Teagan brought the Teyrn to him in the council chamber where he waited with Roselyn. It was safe space for them to talk, while preparations were concluded in the main hall and the visiting nobles were assembled so the Landsmeet could begin.

Loghain was a tall man. His skin pale and weathered, creased around his brow and mouth. His black hair was neck length, slicked back except for two thin braids twisted down by his hollow cheeks. Anora clearly got her looks from her mother’s side, but the intelligent blue eyes were unmistakably from Loghain. They matched, down to the shade of blue and the way Loghain masked his feelings, making his eyes unreadable, as Anora did. He was an unnerving man to look at, imposing. And he took over the council room just by standing in it.

Alistair approached him and offered his hand to shake. Loghain took it. Alistair blanched - the man’s hands were the size of shovels. “Teyrn Loghain. We weren’t sure you would be arriving for the Landsmeet. You sent no word.”

"It seemed pointless. I would have arrived as the messenger did." Loghain explained shortly, dropping Alistair's hand and crossing his arms. "I assume you have started an investigation."

"An... investigation?" Alistair faltered a little. All morning he had experienced a feeling of sickness, and weakness in his body. Now with Loghain before him, questioning him like a great, steadfast gargoyle, he felt weaker and sicker. As though a light breeze would knock him to his feet. "What... investigation?"

"You don't really believe Maric and Cailan were killed by accident, do you?" Loghain barked. "Fool boy, it was an obvious plot. Celene must have had them assassinated. Sabotaged the ship. The Queen Rowan was the swiftest and best built ship in the Ferelden navy fleet. Simply crashing onto rocks would not cause her to splinter and sink as Celene has reported to you."

"Why would Celene hatch a plot to get rid of the King and crown Prince?" Alistair inquired. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to suck them back in. Loghain turned his intelligent, calculating eyes on him sharply, pin-pricked and hawk-like. Alistair felt about a foot tall.

"The Orlesians would do anything to get Ferelden back under heel," Loghain snarled, arching a brow and lifting his eyes to stare beyond Alistair's head at the windows. "Even commit murder - a part of their idiotic _Grand Game_ no doubt."

"There is no reason to suspect the Empress of regicide," Roselyn spoke up, coming to Alistair's side. "The crossing from Orlais to Ferelden this time of year is treacherous even on the clearest days. And the water would have been freezing.” Her voice made him feel stronger and caused the churning of his stomach to calm a little. The hand she placed on his arm him a gesture of silent support. "Besides, there has been peace between Orlais and Ferelden for years. Maric's visit to Orlais was to reaffirm that peace."

"What reason have you to be so certain?" asked Loghain, treating Roselyn to a cursory glance which made Alistair bristle angrily.

"Given the weakened state of Ferelden, how she is in mourning and without a monarch to lead her, now would be the perfect time to launch an attack," explained Roselyn, her lack of patience for Loghain's bad manners and biting attitude breaking through the politeness of her tone. She spoke sharply, snapping her words. "Orlais has done nothing. The Empress has been accommodating, sympathetic, and kind. She has given us no reason not doubt or mistrust her. I do not think we are at risk from Orlais."

Loghain's arms tightened across his leather jerkin. "And I suppose you having so much experience in these matters, we can trust your intuition?"

"Alistair trusts it," Roselyn shot back, lips curved into a disarmingly sweet smile.

"And the King trusted it too," Alistair added, placing the flat of his hand against the small of Roselyn's back. At the mention of Maric there was a flicker of _something_ in Loghain's gaze. A brief glimmer of humanity, there one moment, gone the next, replaced by steely, cold resolve. "Forgive me Loghain, I don't think you've had the pleasure of meeting my wife, Roselyn."

"No," Loghain did not bow, or kiss the back of Roselyn's hand though she offered it. He simply peered down his crooked nose at her, as he had done to Alistair and surveyed her in heavy silence for a few moments. "Though Anora wrote to me and mentioned you a few times. You're a Cousland?"

"Yes," Roselyn swept loose ringlets over her shoulders. "My father and brother are here if you'd like to see them."

"Perhaps," Loghain shifted to one side. "Once all this ridiculousness is done. A Landsmeet hardly seems necessary to choose Maric's successor. But if a show and farce must be made to appease the nobles of Ferelden, then who am I to disagree with them?"

"Is Anora here?" Roselyn asked as Loghain began to turn away from them both. "Is she fully recovered from her illness?"

Loghain paused, a crease of confusion marring his brow. "Her ill..." He paused. "Ah." A small smile crept across his thin lips. It made Alistair feel more uneasy, reminding him of a snake about to strike an unsuspecting mouse. "Yes. She's made a full recovery." Dropping into a curt bow, Loghain left the council room without another word, the doors being closed firmly behind him by two of the palace guards.

Once the echo of the doors was quiet, a long breath left Alistair in a whoosh and he leaned on the table to support himself. "Well," he ruffled his hand through his hair, "he was scarier than I remembered. I wasn't expecting him to come." He turned his gaze to Roselyn and noticed she had her jaw clenched. "Had you met Loghain before?" He stroked her arm.

"No." She shook her head, relaxing a little to his touch. "I heard the stories but... Given his reputation I wasn’t expecting someone so very..." Roselyn pursed her lips, "rude."

Chuckling, Alistair slipped his hands around her waist, drawing her towards him, "I think he's more Ferelden than any Ferelden I know." He stroked his hands up and down Roselyn's back while he spoke. She slotted herself between his legs, arms around his shoulders. "He's what the Orlesians probably think of when they think Ferelden is full of barbarians."

Roselyn lifted both brows, "You might be on to something." Her mouth quirked into a soft smile, her dimples appearing in her cheeks. Alistair pressed a kiss to her mouth, a pleased little murmur rumbling in his chest at the way she twirled her fingers around his hair at the back of his head. "After today things will be easier, I'm sure," Roselyn remarked, pressing her forehead to his.

"I hope so,"Alistair sighed, closed his eyes tight, clenching his jaw. "You won't be angry, will you?" He asked her for what might have been the hundredth time. "I'm not sure how the Landsmeet will decide, but if they choose your father or Arl Eamon to rule instead of me, and I agree... you won't be angry?" They discussed the possible outcomes of the Landsmeet at length over the past week. It was likely the established noble houses of Ferelden would not support a bastard on the throne, even a legitimized one. Alistair believed - and hoped a little - that they would elect either Roselyn's father to rule, as the Cousland family were once a firm claimant to the throne, or Arl Eamon, the older brother to the late Queen Rowan.

Both Eamon and Bryce were established in their own lands. They were experienced, known throughout Ferelden by common folk and noblity alike. They were well liked and supported by their own allies and those in their neighbouring lands. It would be one of them, Alistair was certain of it. His certainty made him uneasy though. Uneasy in the belief that Roselyn would be disappointed that she would remain a Princess, and not a Queen. It was a worry she assuaged over and over, but it gnawed at him. Niggling like an itch he could not scratch.

"I won't be angry." Roselyn cupped Alistair's jaw in her hands making him lift his head. "I have no desire to be Queen. All I want is to be with you." She kissed the end of his nose daintily. "To be with you. For us to be happy. For things to calm down." She tilted her head, her expression growing coy. "To plan for our future? Maybe consider a family?"

"A family? Already?" Alistair grinned. "We've not even been married a year! And there’s no more pressure to produce an heir."

"I know." Roselyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug, "it's just a thought... Maybe it's insensitive, given what's happened but..."

"It's not insensitive." Alistair assured her, voice soft and skimming his hands around to the front of her bodice to lie over her belly. "It's good to look towards the future; the present is very grim by comparison."

"We don't have to start planning right away. I don't want to rush anything, but given how..." Tilting her head back, Alistair watched as Roselyn pursed her lips, searching for the right word. "Given how _active_ we've been," she settled on, a blush staining her cheeks. "It might be something worth thinking about."

Laughing at her meaning and her choice of words, Alistair nodded once, before catching her lips in a sound kiss. One hand slipped across her cheek to hold her jaw, fingers winding in the loose tresses of her hair. The doors to the council chamber opened prompting them to break apart. Teagan entered quickly, followed by Duncan who carried with him several scrolls and folded pieces of parchment.

"Apologies for interrupting, Your Highnesses," Duncan dropped into a short, polite bow, always one to maintain courtesy. Roselyn stood up straight and Alistair kicked off from the table, smoothing his hands down his sleeves and through his hair.

"The nobles are growing restless, Alistair," Teagan informed him, his face grave and almost grey in colour. The stress of the past few weeks was showing hard on Teagan's youthful face. Beneath his eyes were dark circles of sleeplessness. If he wasn't organising one thing, he was trying to smooth things over with a noble. Alistair worried for his uncle. He wanted to suggest Teagan going away for a month after everything settled down - not that Teagan would. He never took time for himself. It was why he never married.

"Time to begin?" Alistair asked, knowing the answer.

"It is," Teagan nodded.

Glancing at Roselyn, Alistair clasped her hand in his, kissed her knuckles and drew a large breath. "Let's get things underway," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. The doors of the council chamber opened as he approached them, the guards holding them open from either side. He led the way into the main hall, Roselyn at his side, Duncan and Teagan flanking them. Alistair and Roselyn both sat in two chairs set up on the dais for them. Duncan and Teagan remained standing.

Most of the nobles were assembled in the gallery, leaning over the railing where they could be seen and heard. Behind each house hung their colours, making them easier to spot through the din and crowds of people. Where the galleries were too full, other families and houses were underneath them on the ground floor, situated at tables. Alistair was happy to see Shianni, sitting with Fiona and a handful of elves from the Alienage.

Those of neighbouring lands stuck close together, all crowing and jostling, trying to be heard before the proceeds had even started. Alistair glanced around at the faces. He recognised Eamon in the gallery, and Bryce Cousland with Fergus. He saw Arl Wulff, Bann Ceorlic, and Bann Perrin close together. Some faces he knew well, others he knew only by sight. He did not see Loghain. He craned his neck in an attempt to spot him, but in his brief glances around the hall, the Teyrn seemed to have disappeared entirely.

Teagan signalled to a guard to crack the hilt of his pole arm on the flagstones. The noise was sharp and echoed around the hall, quickly putting an end to the clamouring and shouting. Alistair was grateful when the cacophony ended. Teagan began to speak, greeting those in attendance, Alistair squeezed Roselyn's hand in his, gulping down on the bile choking in his throat and trying to hear over the sound of blood in his ears.

Alistair felt like a lamb being led into a den of lions.

"And now, for the matter for which we are gathered," Teagan's voice resonated around the hall. Alistair watched as men and women leaned over the gallery railings eagerly, lapping up his uncles words. He watched as glances were exchanged between families, between men and women from neighbouring lands or quarrelling houses. His throat was dry and no matter how much he swallowed it would not dampen. "With Maric and Cailan both dead, it falls to us here to decide who should take up the crown of Ferelden. We are lucky enough that Maric did not have only the one heir," Teagan explained, "but Alistair is not the only claimant to the throne and law dictates that all possible candidates must be considered and given the opportunity to stake their claim."

"Prince Alistair is the rightful heir!" One voice called from the back of the hall. "This Landsmeet is an unnecessary farce." There was a soft murmur of agreement from several other voices. Alistair's skin prickled cold under his clothing. He could feel himself shaking.

"Prince Alistair!"

"Alistair should be King!"

Teagan signalled with his hand, a guard smacked the floor with the end of his pole arm and it was enough to quiet the voices. "I appreciate that many of you would prefer this not to have taken place. That you have all been forced to leave your lands to attend. I would ask you keep your comments to yourselves until the floor is opened to discussion." Alistair watched Teagan's already tense shoulders grow tenser under his clothing. He turned his gaze, seeking out Bryce Cousland in the gallery above with Fergus. "Teyrn Cousland, you are one of the possible candidates for the throne. Do you have anything to say?"

"I do." Roselyn's father leaned over the railing. His gaze landed on Roselyn and then moved to Alistair. He was surprised to see the softness in Bryce's eyes, a small smile curving his mouth. "Alistair is a good man. I have no doubt that he would serve Ferelden well as her King, as he has been doing as regent while his father was absent visiting Orlais. He is intelligent, kind, and I believe Ferelden would flourish under his leadership. I am an old man, and I am not getting any younger. It is my desire to see Ferelden grow and adapt in the future, something which can only be accomplished with a young King with new, fresh ideas. For that reason, I relinquish any claim to the throne I have, and pledge full support to Prince Alistair in his."

A bead of sweat trickled down Alistair's spine. He tried to smile up at his father-in-law but it felt more like a grimace. He was grateful for Bryce's support now that he offered it, but it was not what he wanted. All his life he was told he would never be King. He hoped that Bryce or Eamon would take up the crown in his stead. He was down to one possibility, and judging by the way his uncle nodded vehemently in agreement with Bryce Cousland, Eamon taking the throne was unlikely.

He did not want to be King. He knew nothing about ruling a country, about the politics involved with keeping things together and calm. Yes, he managed it for two months. But that was _two_ months. If he became King, he would have to do it forever. Even with Roselyn at his side giving him her support and her own flavour of political knowledge, there would be so much on him. The crown was his by right as Maric's son. But he was only the Prince because Maric needed someone around in case something happened to Cailan.

"Arl Eamon," Teagan addressed his brother. "Your view?"

"I stand with Teyrn Cousland and with Alistair." Eamon announced, his voice resonating. "Alistair is Maric's boy, and I relinquish my claim to the throne entirely to him. He is what Ferelden is in need of. A fresh mind to usher us into the future and maintain peace with Orlais. He is young, he is inexperienced, but he is not alone. I believe he has the potential to be a great King. To even surpass his father."

At that, there was an uneasy murmur that spread over the hall growing steadily louder. Eamon over stepped with his comment. Speaking disparagingly about Maric, even if it was a flippant comment, made the room turn. Alistair could feel it; the tensions rising, the mood changing. The atmosphere grew heavy and crackled with unsaid words. Alistair clenched his free hand at his side, fingernails pressing into the palm of his hand as Teagan fought to regain control of the room.

"Stirring words Eamon," Bann Ceorlic spoke up from the gallery, voice louder over the disgruntled murmurs of the others in the room. "But it is common knowledge that the Prince is in fact a bastard." A ripple of agreement. Alistair saw Eamon's jaw clench. Bryce Cousland stood silent, arms across his chest with Fergus. Beside him, Roselyn stroked his arm. "You would put a bastard on the throne? You would taint Ferelden's throne with a boy who is only a Prince because your sister could not keep Maric satisfied?!"

"Bann Ceorlic!" Teagan snarled. Eamon's face contorted, a flush of rage colouring his skin. Ceorlic's thin lips curved. Around him, his allies plastered pleased and unpleasant smiles to their faces. One or two glanced in Alistair's direction, sneering down at him from their elevated position.

It almost made Alistair want to laugh. Their locations in the gallery, his on the ground floor of the main hall - it might as well have been a well planned metaphor for his life. He was a bastard. Much of the nobility would never see him as anything more than that, even if he _did_ become King. It would forever be a mark on his name. They would see themselves above him because of his status. It didn't matter to them that Maric legitimized him, it would never matter. He was the bastard Prince, the fool. He was not Maric's son to them. He would never be their King.

"It is true, the Prince is a bastard," Duncan's deep voice cut through the rising din of dissent. He was calm, stepping forward and taking control of the situation without even trying. His presence forced those in the hall to pay attention. Mouths closed, words were cut off, gazes were fixed on the man who commanded respect with just a gesture. "But, as you all know, Alistair was legitimized by the King when he was six-years-old."

"We are to take your word for it?" a voice called from the very back of the room, the owner obscured by the other people.

"What are you to Alistair? What were you to King Maric?" another person asked from the gallery.

"I helped him in his efforts to reclaim Ferelden when he was a young man. We remained friends since then." Duncan unfurled one of the scrolls he was carrying. "I was witness to the writing and signing of the documents which legitimized Alistair as a Prince, as Maric's son, and a possible heir to the throne of Ferelden. I have the original documents here, signed by Maric."

"You're not from Ferelden," someone shouted from near where Ceorlic was standing. "Why should we believe anything a foreigner presents to us? Those documents could be forgeries!"

"I _am_ Ferelden. I was born in Highever, my mother was from Rivain," Duncan explained, his tone growing sharper. "Though I fail to see what that has to do with anything. As for these documents, I can assure you, they are real and the originals."

"It is true," Teagan agreed, "Duncan and I went over them in great detail before the Landsmeet. They were sealed in Maric personal vault to which I have a key. The documents were written the year Alistair was brought to Denerim from Redcliffe. They were signed first by Maric, and witnessed by Duncan and Revered Mother Hester of Denerim's Chantry."

"Does Alistair even _want_ to be King?" one more person asked, a woman's voice from behind where Teagan stood. Heads turned to see who had spoken but the speaker remained hidden.

A pit formed in Alistair's gut as the eyes of those gathered turned to him, watching him expectantly for his response. His skin prickled uncomfortably, cold and clammy under his clothing. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and staining his upper lip. For a distraction, he rubbed his hand through his beard, softly coughing to clear his throat and find his voice. He had to speak, if he didn't they would take his silence for fear. Of course, it was fear that clutched him, but the nobility could not know that. He got to his feet and Roselyn stood with him, a sign of solidarity.

"I was always told by my father and Cailan I would never be King," he began, thinking carefully of his words before he spoke them. His chest constricted around his lungs making him struggle to breathe. He was panicking, a black cloud hazing around the edge of his vision. He gulped, forcing his throat to remain open when it threatened to close. "I know I have a lot to learn... That I am inexperienced, and that I am not my brother or my father... I won't lie, the prospect of being King terrifies me. I was always afraid of disappointing my father, now I am more afraid of disappointing Ferelden's people. But, I..." He steadied himself with a deep inhalation through his nose. Roselyn squeezed his hand. He met her gaze, her encouraging smile and returned it. "If the Landsmeet decides I am to take my father's place on the throne, then I will rule Ferelden to the best of my ability.  Regardless of whether I want the crown or not - Ferelden and the welfare of her people is my responsibility." His voice rose with conviction. "I will not shirk it or cower away from the opportunity presented to me here. I want to carry on my father's name, and make Ferelden the land he envisioned. Ferelden deserves that, at the very least."

Alistair's deep breath as he concluded forced his ribcage to relinquish the tightness around his chest. His skin grew warm, and he felt colour rush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. As the sound of his blood pumping began to quiet, it was replaced by the slow sound of respectful applause arising from the men and women gathered. He turned his eyes to Teagan and to Duncan, the two men more matching expressions, proud and approving. Roselyn gave his hand a gentle tug. He turned, bending so he was closer to her height and she rose onto her toes, pressing a coy kiss to his lips.

"You're sure about this?" she asked him, voice hushed. "I thought...?"

"I know," Alistair murmured back, curving his free hand back through her hair. "But ... it's the right thing to do." He offered a weak smile. "Do you mind?"

She shook her head. "Of course not." She kissed him again.

When the respectful applause started to quieten, one person continued to clap louder than anyone else had done. A steady, slow sound which echoed around the room. Loghain appeared, as if from nowhere, almost sauntering into the middle of the hall, his palms continuing to meet until he was at the centre of everything, the focus of everyone's attention.

"A rousing speech and admirable sentiments," he crowed, standing to his full height. "Who could ever doubt such stirring words given the man who speaks them is Maric's heir?"

"Loghain?" Teagan stepped towards him. Loghain lifted a hand, turning an unpleasant smile on the other man.

"I must wonder though, if your plans for Ferelden involve Orlais," Loghain continued. "After all, Maric and Cailan were putting into motion some very questionable ideas that I doubt they divulged to their council and the members of this noble gathering."

"I don't know anything about any plans Cailan and the King had," Alistair explained, schooling his expression and steadying his voice. "Anything you know would be news to me. But, I would have no plans to involve Orlais in anything to do directly with Ferelden. It would only involve them to keep the continued peace between our two nations. As the King was doing on his visit."

"Hmph," Loghain's mouth twisted. "So you say..." He clutched his hands behind his back, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels and back. "Orlais would seek to reclaim Ferelden under the rule of a weak monarch," he explained, almost spitting. "Given your inexperience, and that you were only made a Prince because Maric was in need of a spare, I believe you would give Ferelden to Orlais at the first opportunity. If only because you're young and foolish enough to be bought off by their flattery and fall into their game."

"Loghain!" Teagan snapped.

"Please, tell us what you really think, Loghain," sighed Alistair, pushing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. "That you are so paranoid that Orlais are desperate to reclaim Ferelden is bordering on lunacy. Orlais have been nothing but accommodating since the war, and I think they would be glad to be rid of us, given their overall opinion of us." He squared his shoulders, and set his jaw. "Besides I'm not even King. The Landsmeet has yet to decide. That you've already decided I'll be terrible at it and lead Ferelden into ruin makes me wonder why you bothered to come to the Landsmeet at all. Unless it was to fear monger and fill people's heads with your insane theories."

"I air my _justified_ concerns, because the Landsmeet needs to know that you would squander the throne and give it away at the first opportunity." Alistair bristled at Loghain's words, but the Teyrn continued, making it impossible for him to interject. "There is another claimant to the throne. Closer to it and better suited than even Maric's bastard." Loghain announced, turning his back on Alistair to address the nobility around him.

Curious murmurs arose, people speaking back and forth hurriedly. Alistair glanced at Teagan, who looked grey but furious that Loghain was taking over the proceedings. Duncan was quiet, his expression still, eyes calculating. Alistair saw both Bryce and Eamon were standing with their arms folded, expressions of quiet distain on their faces.

"Who would this claimant be, Loghain? You?" Eamon demanded. "You have no blood ties to the throne. Being Maric's friend does not make you a candidate or capable of ruling Ferelden. And given you have only been to court a handful of times in the last five years, I doubt you would know anything about the current state of political affairs between Orlais and Ferelden."

"Oh, Eamon," Loghain sneered at him. "I know my place, and it is not me that I speak for." He gestured with one hand. At the far end of the hall, the doors were opened by a pair of guards in the livery of Gwaren. The crowd split down the middle, allowing Alistair to see a figure walking through the doors at a steady, slow pace. Head up, shoulders down, chin raised. Noble, challenging and assertive. A person sure of their own place and rank. The further into the hall they came, the more clear it was who Loghain referred to.

"Anora!" Roselyn gasped at his side, barely concealing her smile at the unexpected return of her friend. Quickly, Roselyn's smile weakened, her expression growing puzzled and uneasy.

Alistair swallowed a breath. The sick feeling of earlier was back, not just because of Anora's return but because of how clearly she was changed. It was a hard thing to see at first because of the way her dress covered her but when she turned to the side and approached her father, almost making a show of every subtle turn of her head and each step, it was clear. Her dress was bigger, but fitted in a way which made the swell of her belly more pronounced and obvious on purpose. The hairs on the back of Alistair's neck stood erect when Anora looked at him. Her gaze, always so cool and unreadable was cold on him now, like looking into the eyes of a stranger.

Loghain stood proudly at the side of his daughter, the pair of them exchanging quiet, conspiratorial glances. "Anora, Cailan's widow, carries his child," announced Loghain. "Their infant is the rightful heir to Ferelden's throne. And I propose that until the child comes of age, Anora rule instead."

There was a beat of silence so quiet Alistair was certain he could hear the heart beats of those around him. The tension rose, thudding, crushing everyone in the hall as Loghain's words resonated, penetrated and sunk into their minds and ears. Then, as if someone had dropped a flag to begin a tourney, cries erupted from all sides deafeningly loud.

Alistair squeezed Roselyn's hand with almost bone-breaking pressure, his palm sweaty against his wife's. His heart was threatening to break through his chest, his tongue going heavy and dry in his mouth. In the middle of the chaos he saw Anora, the quiet smile on her lips, and the way he rest her hands over her belly. As if sensing his gaze, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her lips curved, her smile growing almost wicked. It made him shiver, sent a cold ripple down his spine. Her eyes flashed in silent and nameless challenge.

She wanted the throne, given all she had experienced and suffered with Cailan, Alistair could not blame her; and she would fight him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of chapter twelve! I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! Hopefully the first half of chapter 13 will be up in a more timely manner. Things have got a bit on top of me recently causing delays and whatnot.   
> Thanks for reading! <3


	20. Chapter 13: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: The Landsmeet is in uproar after Loghain's interruption and the surprise arrival of a pregnant Anora. Alistair receives council on how best to deal with the situation from varying sources now that there is another claimant for his father's throne. Once things calm down Roselyn manages to get some time with Anora - though she is unsure if their friendship will be the same.
> 
> Credit as always to my gorgeous beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with chapter 13. Sorry for the delay again. Life is. ugh. Life.

_Month: Mid-Harvestmere_  
  
\--  
  
In the aftermath of Loghain's announcement and Anora's arrival, the Landsmeet fell to chaos. Voices all clamoured over each other to be heard while Teagan and Duncan tried in vain to regain some sense of order. Loghain escorted Anora from the hall, an entourage of guards protecting them from any would be attackers, while palace guards flanked Alistair and Roselyn as they were led from the cacophony into the council chamber beyond for safety. Fiona and Shianni joined them, as did Arl Eamon, Roselyn's father, and her brother once they wrestled their way down from the gallery through the rowdy men and women outside.

Even through the thick walls and heavy doors, the noise was intense. Angry shouts, outrage, jibes and swearing. Occasionally the din grew quiet only for one voice to rise over the others and it to begin again.

"What in the name of the Maker is Loghain playing at?!" Bryce demanded, slamming his hands down on the table in the middle of the room. Roselyn winced at the sound. She clung to Alistair's arm, feeling him shake under his clothes. His face was unreadable, pale, and his eyes looked without seeing. In one moment, Loghain had upset Ferelden as though he was pulling a rug out from under Alistair's feet. "Anora cannot be Queen!"

"If the child is hers and Cailan's…" Fergus was the voice of reason from just inside the chamber.

"She's barren!" snapped Eamon. "Everyone knows it."

"She looked quite pregnant to me," quipped Shianni, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked uncomfortable and stuck close to Fiona, a familiar face in amongst the nobility she suddenly found herself surrounded by.

"Could the child be from an affair?" Fiona inquired, sweeping her thing fingers through her short hair. Her cheeks were flushed red, staining her skin. "Is that in Anora's character?"

"Rosie?" Fergus placed his hand on Roselyn's shoulder, startling her. "You know her better than most of us."

"I don't..." Roselyn shook her head, ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. "N-no... I don't... She wouldn’t."

Alistair moved out of her grasp, his steps heavy and thumping on the floor. He approached a chair, placed both hands on the back of it and in one move, flung it across the room with an enraged roar. The chair clattered against the wall and to the floor, Alistair's shoulders were up around his ears, rigid and tense, hands balled into fists.

The silence in the chamber was broken only by the diminishing shouts from outside. Fergus' hand on Roselyn's shoulder tightened protectively. Bryce and Eamon looked at each other as if having a conversation with their eyes.

"Alistair..." Roselyn stepped away from her brother. Fergus held her fast, his expression grim and eyes fixed on Alistair's tense posture.

"Why would they do this?" barked Alistair, rounding on those assembled. "Don't they think this is hard enough for me to deal with, without them making a power grab?! I thought Anora was better than this!"

"Honestly, this reeks of Loghain," Eamon remarked, crossing his arms across his chest. "I appreciate Anora is Cailan's widow but that does not automatically make the throne hers. Why did she not step forward sooner? Or announce her pregnancy before now? It’s been long awaited."

"I don't know, Eamon" Alistair snapped through gritted teeth.

"Given Cailan's treatment of her..." Fergus sighed. "Maybe she thinks the throne is owed to her? After all the insults she's suffered."

Bryce pursed his lips, "I would never have imagined Anora to be conniving."

"Who is to say this is Anora at work?" Roselyn interjected coming to Anora's defence. "Eamon _just_ said this whole thing reeks of Loghain."

"Did she mention to you that she was with child?" inquired Fiona. "It seems... odd to me that she would keep it to herself."

"Can you blame her?" Shianni spoke before Roselyn could. "She's been denounced as barren for years and her husband is – _was_ \- a lecher and was known to have mistresses. She probably didn't want to say anything in case she lost the baby. Or she was worried Cailan would fly off the handle, try to poison her or something so he could continue being an ass to her and not be met with any criticism."

"Makes sense," Roselyn murmured. "Given that Maric was brokering a union between Cailan and Celene... Anora probably thought making her condition known would put her in danger."

"A match with Celene?" repeated Eamon, eyebrows raised. "Is that true?"

"Yes," Alistair answered for Roselyn. "One of the reasons for their extended stay in Orlais was for that purpose. I believe on their return the King intended to start proceedings to have Cailan and Anora's marriage annulled."

"And Anora must have told Loghain..." Bryce rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "I think I understand why the need for such a grandiose spectacle. Loghain wanted everyone to know without a doubt that Anora carries what they believe is the rightful heir to the throne. Even if Maric and Cailan were alive, the announcement of Anora's pregnancy would have been as theatrical."

Silence fell, deafening, tense, and crushing as the minds of each person in the room turned and turned. Roselyn's thoughts were torn. She wanted to support Alistair. His claim was legitimate and stronger than Anora's. More than that, she believed he would be the king Ferelden not only needed but deserved. Yet she was sympathetic to Anora's plight. A widow with no claim, and carrying the child of a husband who was dismissive to her and now dead. Whether at Loghain's behest or of her own determination, Anora was reaching for a place of status and security. A place where she and her child could be safe. And why not grasp for the throne? Cailan was Maric's heir when he was alive; it made sense that she would believe their infant should take up the throne even if law dictated differently.

"What should we do about them?" asked Alistair wearily. He ruffled his hand through his hair. Roselyn saw at once how this new revelation weighed on him. What relief the decision of the Landsmeet had afforded him was now gone.

"Denounce them," Fergus suggested. "Arrange a quick coronation, and exile them. To Orlais.” His lips twisted into a grim smile. “Loghain would _love_ that.”

"Rash, Fergus," Bryce remarked, glancing at him. "Anora is still Cailan's widow. And Loghain is – _was_ \- one of Maric's closest friends. Openly denouncing them would win Alistair no friends. Nor would it strengthen his claim."

Eamon hummed in agreement, "Though a quick coronation isn't a bad idea. It would certain scupper whatever plans Anora and Loghain have."

"No," protested Alistair. "If I'm going to be King it will be done correctly. No other possible claimants. I want this cleared up and resolved before anyone sits on the throne again. I will not allow this is dissolve into civil war."

"That..." Eamon sucked his teeth. "That leaves Ferelden in a precarious state, Alistair."

"Does it?" he snorted. "I'm not relinquishing my claim or my right. The Landsmeet selected me, and until such time as they stop supporting me, I am forcibly removed or assassinated then Ferelden and her people are still my priority and responsibility. That hasn't changed."

"Maybe send Anora and Loghain back to Gwaren then?" suggested Fiona.

"Bad idea," said Shianni.

"I agree," Roselyn nodded. Alistair turned his tired gaze to her, mouth pulled into a thin, troubled line. "Sending them back to Gwaren will allow them to plot and possibly gather forces. If you offer them quarters here at the palace until this issue is resolved, then it not only shows you being gracious to them but will also mean they won't be able to plan quite so easily... If that is what they intend."

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer," Shianni summed up, scratching her chin.

"Exactly. Besides," Roselyn shrugged, "the palace was Anora's home for years, it would be wrong to exile her from it because of this."

"All right," Alistair released a long breath and scraped his fingers back through his hair. "We'll offer Loghain guest quarters and Anora can have her old rooms while they're here. I'll ask Teagan to summon lawyers and notaries. Hopefully they can examine both claims, official documents, whatever is necessary, and advise which is stronger. I don't want this to go on longer than it has to."

"In the meantime, Eamon and I will return to our lands and continue to drum up support for you," Bryce explained. "Keep those who support your claim on our side, and try to convince those who are uncertain or shaken by this news to join our cause."

"Thank you," Alistair gave a slight nod at his father-in-law. He pushed his face into his hands and grunted softly. "Best to go and invite them in person."

"Give yourself a moment, Alistair," Eamon advised him. "Gather your thoughts."

Eamon went towards the doors of the council room, Bryce followed him with Fergus and they left together. Once Roselyn was free of her brother's grip she approached Alistair. He flopped into a chair and pulled her into his lap when she was close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Underneath his clothes his body was wound tight as a spring and felt ready to snap. He was shaking, his forehead and the hair at the back of his neck was drenched in cold sweat. His arms wound tight around her waist, anchoring himself to her. She eased her fingers through his hair, pressing her lips to the side of his head.

Fiona spoke under her breath to Shianni, taking her gently by the elbow and leading her towards the door. Roselyn noticed how Shianni hesitated, looking as though she wanted to speak.

“Shianni?” Roselyn inquired. Alistair lifted his head to look. “Something wrong?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been down at the Alienage recently,” Alistair explained hurriedly. “With everything that’s happened...”

Shianni waved her hand dismissively. “No apology necessary. Fiona and Duncan have been keeping things on track and in order. Just...” Her lips twitched to one side. “I doubt it matters much, we’re just elves in an Alienage after all, but you’ve got our support.”

“Thank you,” Alistair smiled and Roselyn felt his shoulders relax a little. “It matters an awful lot.”

“You’ve been better to us in the last few months than your father was during the years he ruled Ferelden. If you need us for anything, you only need to ask.” Shianni nodded into a curt and uncomfortable bow.

“Thank you,” Alistair said again. “And I promise, once things have calmed down a bit I’ll be down to see how the Alienage looks.”

Fiona took Shianni’s elbow again and led her to the door. Nodding politely as they left she closed the door behind her leaving Roselyn and Alistair in dead silence.

Alistair buried his face into Roselyn’s neck. He sighed, breath and shoulders shuddering hard. Roselyn felt his eye lashes against her skin, dampness and his breaths hitch and choke as he struggled to stay composed.

She stroked his hair. “It’s all right,” she soothed kissing the crown of his head. “It’s all right... It’s just us...”

He wept softly, face hidden, and his voice barely audible. His hold around her grew more desperate, fingers gripping hard through her bodice and the velvet of her dress, practically clinging to her. His shoulders trembled as if he was fighting off a chill and his skin grew cold and clammy with sweat. Through it, in silent support, Roselyn hushed him. She stroked the back of his neck, her cheek pressed to his hair. She felt his heartbeat thundering through his clothing, his breaths growing shorter and panicked. She tried to keep her own breathing slow and steady, a subtle guidance for him to follow.

They remained undisturbed for some time and slowly Alistair calmed. When he lifted his head Roselyn could see his eyes were bloodshot and his eyelashes stuck together from his tears. His cheeks were flushed and he wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Sorry...” He apologised in a small voice, averting his gaze to the floor. “That ... I shouldn’t have...”

“You don’t have to apologise to me,” Roselyn assured him, cupping his jaw in her hands. “I’m your wife, remember? I’m on your side. If you can’t be weak with me then when can you be?”

Alistair gave a small, pathetic chuckle, a feeble smile curving his mouth. Roselyn pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, brushing her nose against his as she pulled away. She noticed Alistair looking at her, his expression troubled.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to put you in the middle of all this,” he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “But you’re closest to Anora.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Roselyn prompted, following his train of thought. “Maybe I can find out her mind.  If she can be swayed to any other resolution.”

“Plus, she might appreciate your support while she’s pregnant,” Alistair added. “This doesn’t mean the two of you can’t be friends. Though, I understand it might divide your loyalties.”

“My loyalty is to you,” Roselyn remarked, voice firm with her conviction. “No contest. Anora is my friend, yes. I still want her friendship. But you are my husband. I love you. I would prefer not to have to choose one over the other, but if it comes to that I choose you. Every time.”

Alistair smiled and pressed a kiss to the bridge of Roselyn’s nose, “I suppose I should find Teagan and go make this invitation.”

“Would be best,” agreed Roselyn.

Groaning, Alistair squeezed his eyes closed and rubbing his fingers across his forehead. “Maker, I hope this conflict doesn’t last long. Or evolve into civil war... By the grace of Andraste, please don't let it start a war.”

“Loghain won’t start anything like that,” Roselyn shook her head.

Alistair lifted a brow, “You sound very sure.”

“Because I am,” she smiled and nodded. “There’s more support for you, including the late Queen’s family and mine – two of the most influential families in Ferelden and closest to the crown. If Loghain mounts an army or an attack of military force against you it will confirm that he is making a grab for the throne himself, that his interests are his and not for the benefit of Anora’s child. It will lose him any support from those in two minds and the support of Ferelden's people.”

“I hope you’re right,” sighed Alistair. He released Roselyn allowing her to get to her feet. He ran his hands through his hair and down his arms a few times before getting to his feet and straightening his jacket. “Presentable?”

“Mhm-hm,” Roselyn took his hand. “Let’s go and get the worst part over with.”

 

* * *

 

 

Loghain accepted Alistair’s invitation to stay, agreeing to his terms that it made more sense for he and Anora to be in the capital while the issue of who should take up the crown was resolved. Anora and Loghain’s things arrived from Gwaren the next week. With them came Anora’s head lady-in-waiting, Erlina, and the midwife who started to tend to Anora's  needs while she was away. Anora resumed residence in her rooms while Loghain was given some of the largest and most lavish rooms in the guest wing of the palace as a goodwill gesture. It was as much a show of benevolence on Alistair's part as it was a strategic move. The two locations were far enough apart that if Anora and Loghain went to each other’s rooms at anytime they were seen by guards, servants, and courtiers. The palace staff became Teagan’s eyes and ears, reporting to him whatever they saw or heard. Teagan in turn fed back to Alistair anything interesting or anything he considered pertinent.

While Loghain and Anora settled into the palace, notaries and lawyers were summoned from across Ferelden. They were commissioned with finding a solution to the issue of succession, and left to pour over documents and contracts together, huddled away in the library every day from dawn until dusk.

Life slowly filled the palace as courtiers and members of the council began to return from their own lands after now the period of mourning was drawing to a close. The halls filled with noise, the hum of conversation and intrigue. Gossip and rumours were running rife within a few days, rumours about Anora and the father of her child. Every day more people arrived and soon petitioners were allowed to return and bring their issues before Alistair.

The number of petitioners grew towards the end of the year when the days grew shorter, the weather colder, and it became harder for the labourers to work the fields. The first snow fall happened a week after the Landsmeet. Only a light layer, barely an inch thick, but it came with the promise of harshness for the months to come.

Snow was not a common thing for Roselyn. Living in Highever and close to the coast, snow rarely fell because of the sea air. On the occasions it fell and settled, it never lasted longer than a day or two. She hoped that she could invite her brother and his family for Wintersend so her niece and nephew could experience the snow the way she never did as a child. The cold that accompanied the winter months was something every Ferelden was familiar with. It bit through the walls and windows of the palace, clinging like a second skin to the stone work. No matter how many fires were lit, there was always a draught somewhere.

While Anora settled back into her rooms at the palace and things were made more suitable for her while she was pregnant, Roselyn kept her distance. She did not want to intrude, and in truth felt uncertain how to approach Anora now she was vying for the throne. She did not want the current state of affairs to fracture their carefully cultivated friendship and fondness for each other, but it seemed inevitable. When they glanced each other across rooms or passed each other in hallways, there was an iciness and a coolness around Anora that was not there before. She did not look at Roselyn with kindness as she once did. Instead she made the effort to stand straighter, to look down her nose. And Roselyn let her. She never commented on it. She kept her head down, greeting Anora with pleasantries when they passed. Their words were curt and clipped, as if all warmth between them was now gone in the wake of recent events.

Or so Roselyn believed until Erlina arrived with a note from Anora one morning after breakfast two weeks after the Landsmeet.

_"I thought I would take in some fresh air in the gardens. I feel as though I am losing my mind in my rooms. Perhaps you would like you join me? We should talk. Catch up. I understand if you would rather not._

_\- Anora"_

Alistair was already with Duncan and Teagan, dealing with the council and with the complaints brought to him from further afield. Roselyn considered the note a chance for she and Anora to talk and hopefully thaw things between them. She accepted Anora's invitation, wrapped up in a thick cloak lined with ermine, and went to the gardens.

Snow had fallen the night before covering the ground with a layer several inches thick. A few paths were still pristine, untouched by foot prints and in other places the only disturbances were the prints of birds or a fox. Gardeners bustled around with shovels, covered up in thick clothes and woollen scarves to keep out the cold. Their breath hung in the air, little puffs of steam as they shovelled to clear walk ways and tidied up.

Roselyn found Anora near the hedge maze. In the past she often walked alone or with one person with her. Now she was surrounded by an entourage of women, Erlina always at her side. They gabbled and clucked around her like fussing hens, commenting on innocuous things like the leaves on the hedges and how deep the snow was. As soon as they saw her, their talking abruptly stopped and Roselyn felt a coldness creeping up her spine. She wondered if she was the topic of their conversation? What horrid things they were saying about her? Was Anora was allowing them to say whatever they wanted? She fought not to blush and kept her gaze firmly on Anora who was dressed in a deep purple gown, the sleeves slashed with silver, and a thick velvet cloak with a white fox-fur hood and trim. Her hands were concealed in a muffler, obscuring the swell of her belly.

To Roselyn’s surprise, Anora greeted with a warm smile and walked a few paces away from her ladies-in-waiting to greet her. “I didn’t think you’d accept my invitation.” She gave her a brief one armed hug, half-hearted but pleasant and looped her arm through Roselyn’s without a word taking the lead as they started walking. Her ladies hung back until there was a space of about six feet between them, then they followed at Anora’s pace.

It was strange. The way they walked together, the familiarity of how Anora rest her arm through Roselyn’s. She should have been happy and talkative – they both had a lot to talk about after all, but all Roselyn felt was tense. She held herself rigid, her stomach tightly clenched and her jaw clamped together so tight it hurt. This was not the easy, relaxed friendship they had had before. No matter how calm they both appeared outwardly, they were both weighing the other up.

Anora set their pace and the path they walked in silence for a good five minutes. Several times Roselyn considered speaking but thought against it. She was certain Anora started to say something once or twice, but held her tongue. Awkward, uncertain, neither of them knowing where to start or what to say.

Then Roselyn couldn’t take it anymore and she blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anora’s steps faltered but she recovered in a moment. Her cool blue eyes met Roselyn’s grey ones and she lightly tucked a few stray strands of Roselyn’s hair behind her ears. Anora was always hard to read, but now she seemed almost to put up walls and a mask to protect herself. “I wanted to. I did,” she began. “But I was afraid. If I told you, you would tell Alistair, and he would inevitably say something to Maric or Cailan without meaning to. I didn’t want to jinx it.” She lay her hand on her belly. “Women my age can struggle to carry babies to full term. And given how difficult it has been for me to even get pregnant... I didn’t want to tell everyone and then lose the child.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“It wasn’t a personal slight, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Roselyn tilted a brow and bit her bottom lip. “When... When did you know?”

“I had suspicions around the time of the tourney. It’s why I fainted, I think,” Anora explained. “Before your wedding, Cailan was more... attentive. I suppose with the celebrations, watching you and Alistair be so affectionate with each other and getting to know each other... I think it ignited something in him. Albeit temporarily.” She led them around the corner of the maze and through the yew hedges towards Rowan’s rose garden. “He came to me every night for a week or more. We slept together in the same bed all night for the first time in years.” Roselyn heard her voice crack a little when she spoke about Cailan, a moment of weakness Anora covered with a prim cough.

“Why go to Gwaren?” Roselyn asked her.

“When I realised what Maric and Cailan were up to with the Orlesian ambassadors and the proposed marriage between Cailan and Celene, I knew I had to get away.” Her voice grew harder. “It was becoming too risky to hide with dresses and shutting myself away. In Gwaren I didn’t need to keep it secret and I could plan. If I was still at the palace and pregnant when Maric and Cailan returned, they would have created some plan to be rid of me and the child, so their alliance with Orlais could go ahead. It was necessary to keep me and my son safe.”

"Your son?" Roselyn yelped. "You know the sex?"

Anora gave a slow smile, "I believe it's a boy, yes."

"Hm," Roselyn furrowed her brow. “But you really thought Maric and Cailan would do something like that? That they would purposely harm you or the baby for an alliance?" She bit her lip. "Given how desperate Maric was for grandchildren I find that hard to believe."

Anora frowned, her eyes remaining fixed ahead, her expression hardening. "You have no idea the kinds of things they were capable of,” she explained in a tone that made Roselyn’s hairs stand on end. “You should consider yourself lucky that all Cailan ever did was grope you. He was capable of far worse, believe me.” All fondness for him was gone from her voice, replaced with cold anger.

They continued walking together in silence a while long. Roselyn turned over the things Anora had said in her mind. It made sense now she had more information, that she would keep the pregnancy a secret. To announce it and then lose the child would have humiliated her and been more than enough grounds for a divorce or annulment, if Maric’s lawyers could not turn up a truly legitimate reason.

“I’m happy for you,” Roselyn said after a time. Anora looked at her, shock flickering across her carefully controlled expression. “Despite the circumstances, I’m happy for you.”

“I...” Anora blinked. Her eyes watered for a moment and then she gulped back the threat of tears, bringing herself back under control. “Thank you.” Her smile was small, and did not reach her eyes, but Roselyn was satisfied at the very least. “What of you and Alistair?” asked Anora.

“What of us?”

“How are you?”

“Fine,” Roselyn kept her tone clipped. She bit back her desire to tell the truth, that Alistair was suffering, struggling, and Anora’s claim for the throne was not helping him in the least. That Roselyn was disappointed in her. And that even though she was happy for her, she was angry with her too for being selfish.

“Are you...” Anora pursed her lips, either ignoring or deaf to the shortness of Roselyn’s tone. “I mean, have the two of you...?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It was fine.”

“Oh.” Anora sighed. “You’re not going to tell me anything else about it?”

“There’s not a lot to tell you,” shrugged Roselyn. “We did it on our own terms. It was enjoyable, and now we’re hoping I fall pregnant soon.” The last part was lie. Neither of them were _hoping_ she would fall pregnant soon, they just knew it was a definite possibility given how active they were. In truth, Roselyn wanted to gush. She wanted to explode and go into every sordid, graphic detail with Anora. To tell her how Alistair touched and pleased her. How he made her burn with just a touch, and the way he felt in her hands. She had never had another woman with whom she could talk about such things, and if circumstances were different she would be more forthcoming with details. But Anora was not the same woman she was before the Landsmeet. And with Loghain around, Roselyn was not certain where her information would go. If anything she said would be used against her eventually.

“Well,” Anora drew her lips into a straight line. “I certainly hope you get your wish.” She forced a thin smile, pressing her palm to her swollen belly. “It’s not easy.”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

They fell into silence again, only making vague conversation about the snow and the palace. The skirted expertly around the real topic they wanted to discuss, both of them backing off whenever the conversation grew too close to the subject of the throne and the right of succession. They walked through the rose and herb gardens, around the great stone fountain in the frozen pond and back towards the palace. Erlina and Anora’s other ladies followed at a polite distance, but Roselyn was acutely aware of how they were listening in. Craning to hear every word they both said.

The air grew colder as the wind picked up. Anora’s cheeks were flushed red, the end of her nose glowing in the cold. Roselyn felt the wind biting through cloak and dress. The snow seeped through her shoes making her feet feel like ice blocks, but she did not want to go inside yet. Not until they addressed the real issue creating the chasm between them. She would not be able to talk to Anora about it inside the palace where walls had ears and everyone gossiped. At least out here they could talk and keep their voices low, even if there were people around them actively trying to listen.

“Why are you doing it?” Roselyn asked the question without thinking. She brought the pair of them to a stop, taking shelter under the boughs of an oak tree still clinging to its last few leaves.

“Doing what?” Anora feigned ignorance. Roselyn would not allow her to squirm out of her line of questioning without the answers she wanted.

“You know what,” Roselyn sighed. “Trying to take the throne from Alistair. He’s Maric’s true heir. The succession went to Cailan, and if he died without children then it went to Alistair.”

“Cailan _has_ a child.”

“It’s not born yet,” said Roselyn. “And Alistair is there already. He knows how to rule, and what he doesn’t know, he can learn. Your child would need to grow up, learn everything. It would take years.”

“I would rule as regent while he grew up,” explained Anora, lifting her chin.

“And your father would rule you?”

Anora’s eyes blazed. Roselyn had touched a nerve. “ _No one_ will rule me,” she almost snarled. “My father is protecting me and his grandson; he is ensuring we are treated as we deserve and given our dues.”

“Right...” Roselyn crossed her arms. “And you don’t think your play for the crown is incredibly insensitive? Ill-timed? Downright cruel? You don’t think Alistair has enough to deal with, trying to pick up the pieces of his father’s Kingdom in the wake of his unexpected death? Without your barbaric father trying to pull the rug out from underneath him?”

“My father may not be the most refined man, but he is not a barbarian!” Anora took a step back, standing to her full height. “If it weren’t for my father, Maric would never have had a Ferelden to rule!”

“Your father was made a Teyrn for his involvement in the war with Orlais. Isn't that enough?”

“I was to be Queen when Maric died. My husband was to be King. Why should my son not take up the throne that should have been his father’s?”

Roselyn quirked a brow, “You’re so certain it’s a boy? What if it’s a girl?”

“Then the law will be changed, and she will rule.”

“You have plans to change a lot of things.”

“I know how to rule a country. I watched Maric do it poorly for years,” snorted Anora. “I learned from his mistakes. And if Cailan had become King, he would have been nothing more than a figurehead. I would have been the reason for every change that came to Ferelden.”

“And what changes will be made under the reign of Queen-Regent Anora? Changes that are heavily influenced by your father?”

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roselyn snapped. “I find it hard to believe that a man who avoids court for years, even though his daughter is being mistreated, suddenly returns with the death of the King and Crown Prince while presenting his daughter for the throne, has anything on his mind except a power grab and ruling for himself!”

“You’re walking a dangerous line, Roselyn,” hissed Anora. “This is close to slander.”

“Is that treason now?” barked Roselyn, balling her hands into fists. “Did it become an offence worthy of execution to bad mouth your father while I wasn’t looking? What other rules and laws will you implement when you’re his puppet on the throne? Perhaps he’ll outlaw Orlesians. Force anyone married to an Orlesian or with family in Orlais into exile. Threaten them with the headman's axe if they don't comply!" Roselyn’s chest heaved as she took a breath. “Say what you want about not allowing yourself to be controlled Anora, but the truth is you and your child will be the figurehead while Loghain wields the true power behind the throne.”

“That isn’t true!”

“No?” Roselyn challenged feeling her cheeks flush hotly. “Tell me honestly that you believe your father has the interests of you and your child at heart. That this... grab for power is for the benefit of you and the child, not for him.”

Anora’s mouth flew open but no sound came out. She closed her mouth, wide eyes staring into Roselyn’s until they darted away down to the ground and Anora’s expression of staunch resolve crumbled. She lay her hands protectively across her belly, her eyes beginning to water. Roselyn’s anger melted, being replaced with sympathy. She reached for Anora, wanting to comfort her but she recoiled a few steps away.

“Erlina!” Anora called. Immediately the elven woman was at her side. “I’m cold, I want to go in. Can you make sure a bath is drawn for me?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Erlina bobbed into a curtsy and turned to deliver the instructions to Anora’s ladies.

Roselyn watched as Anora composed herself. Her face hardened, eyes betraying no emotion. She squared her shoulders with a deep inhalation and in moments it was as if she was never on the verge of tears. As if Roselyn’s words were never said.

“Do not think I do not know my own father,” Anora remarked coldly, peering down at Roselyn from her height. “I know the kind of man he is, what he is capable of. But I am his daughter, and he taught me well.”

“Anora...”

“I will not be a figurehead to anyone. My son _will_ rule when he comes of age, and until such time I will rule in his stead,” she spoke coldly, everything about her giving an air of command and repulsion. “Do not mistake me. I mean neither you nor Alistair any personal slight or grievance. But I will have what it owed to me. Under my terms, not my father’s.”

She turned in a flourish and walked to Erlina who was waiting for her without a glance back. Roselyn watched the two women depart, disappearing into the palace before she released the breath she was holding. Whatever Anora believed, it was a belief only she held and it was one she clung to by her very fingernails. She would convince herself that she was in charge, that she was making all the calls, that she held the power. Even while her father moved the strings to make her say what he wanted and do what he wanted. She was little more than a powerful pawn, and her child would be the same.

If the right of succession was found in Anora’s favour then Ferelden would be ruled by Anora and her child, and they would be ruled by Loghain. The thought of a Ferelden under Loghain’s thumb made Roselyn shudder. It was too grim to think of. Someone so severe close-minded having such a hold over so many people. Ferelden would topple within a year if Loghain strangled it as she believed he would.

A gust blew up sharp and crisp, cutting through Roselyn’s clothes. It reminded her how cold she was, the thought of a Ferelden under Loghain doing nothing to warm her. She followed Anora and Erlina’s footprints towards the palace. She would warm up and seek out Alistair to tell him what she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this half of chapter 13. Next part will be up soon!  
> Comments are appreciated and encouraged. And I will see you in the next chapter!


	21. Chapter 13: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week on since Roselyn spoke to Anora, and those charged with clearing up the issue of the rite of succession believe they've found a solution that suits everyone. Those it concerns are gathered, and not everyone is pleased with their suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NSFW
> 
> Thanks to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen, both of tumblr, for being awesome.

_One week later._

_\--_

It felt like months since Alistair was able to get some time to himself. New issues were constantly brought to his attention. Council sessions seemed to go on twice as long as necessary because Loghain insisted in being involved with each one and having his opinion taken on board, always maintaining his opinion was shared with Anora. If he wasn't in a council session, then Alistair was dealing with petitioners, trying to work out the problems they put before him. Usually small squabbles or issues about food which were easily dealt with by asking Banns from neighbouring lands to share their harvest with those in the most need.

When it wasn't petitioners, there were courtiers always vying for his attention. Gossip being whispered in his ear, or support being offered - for a price of course. Alistair relished the evening when he could retire to his and Roselyn's rooms, but found himself so exhausted by the day and the people around him, he rarely had energy to engage in more than talking.

This rare hour of free time he found himself with was a luxury and one he intended to make the most of. He told both Teagan and Duncan where he would be after the council session ended and left the main hall, almost running through the palace to get outside. An hour wasn't long enough for him to get down to the Alienage, but it was long enough for him to get some air and stretch his legs. He looked for Roselyn briefly, only to be told she was out walking with Anora. So with that option out of his grasp, Alistair went to the stables with Roo to spend some time in the company of those who asked nothing of him.

As children, Cailan always made fun of Alistair for his fondness for horses. He said it was Alistair returning to his roots, that the horses greeted him as one of their own given where he used to sleep. As a boy, the words hurt. Now, Alistair almost wanted to hear his brother mocking him as he ran his brush over the grey coat of his hunter.

Despite the cold, the stable was warm and the soft whickers of the horses in their boxes was a calming sound. Perhaps it was because he had spent so long sleeping in stables, but they always made him happy. Horses were simple creatures. They asked for nothing more than to be fed, brushed, and to be ridden. A treat here or there, a scratch under the chin, and they were content. They were not like people who lied and schemed.

Life would have been so much simpler for him if he had remained the orphan boy in the stables that the Arlessa hated. It would have been quieter and deliciously uncomplicated. Perhaps he would have become a groom or a page boy, a servant to Arl Eamon eventually. Or maybe he would have left when he was old enough. Struck out on his own to see the world and make something of himself off his own bat. As it was, he became the Prince who would never inherit the throne.

If the situation wasn't so horrendous and dire, Alistair would have found it funny. As it was, he hated the place he was in now. He would take on the ruling of Ferelden only if there were no other claimants to the throne; he had said so and intended to stick to his word. But this was a difficult political and legal situation. One no one expected or knew how to remedy. As far as Alistair could tell, Anora's claim was as strong as his, if not stronger. After all, she _was_ Cailan's widow and she _did_ carry Cailan's heir. But he was Maric's blood. Everything he heard coming into the palace was that the Banns and Arls throughout Ferelden were divided in opinion.

Many supported Alistair and his claim as Maric's son and heir; he was legitimised legally and there should be no quarrel about who the throne went to. Those same people wanted to see a King and Queen on the throne. Not only was Alistair married, but his wife happened to be the daughter of one of the most respected and well loved Teyrns in Ferelden. Others believed Anora better suited and that with the baby in her belly, her claim was assured. Then there were others who were on the fence and could not decide whose claim was stronger. They did not wish to take sides and risk the fallout when a successor was decided upon.

Alistair did not want to think on it any longer. He came to the stables to get away from it, to empty his head. Yet as he brushed the horse’s flanks in a set rhythm, smoothing his hand over the animal's coat with each stroke, his predicament turned over and over in his head. If he was King, there would be so much on him. So many people would come to him with their problems. So many would rely on him and need his guidance.

His father had not been a good king. Maric was the king who pushed limits and saw Ferelden through war, but floundered in peace time. He got bored quickly after the Orlesians were gone and there was never another conflict to take his attention. Excursions to the Deep Roads looking for relics didn't count. Alistair believed he could be a good king during peaceful times, but what if a country tried to invade Ferelden? What if Orlais tried to invade, or the Imperium tried to take the South as they had tried in the distant past? Alistair felt he could rule while things were peaceful, but if war broke out... Could he willingly, in good conscience send his subjects into death?

It was a choice he hoped never to make. But that was where he and Anora differed.

Anora was raised as Loghain's daughter and knew that hard choices needed to be made some times for the greater good. That the deaths of one generation of people might ensure peace for future generations. If war broke out in Ferelden, Anora would be able to make the call. Alistair knew he would hesitate and that hesitation to preserve the lives of his people might cost him the country anyway.

He snorted to himself at his thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself. First he had to be crowned and his rival removed. Then he could worry about hypothetical situations. He only hoped Anora could be removed peacefully if the solution was in his favour. He also hoped that both Loghain and Anora would be graceful should the scales tip in Alistair's favor. He knew Anora would most likely be graceful in that situation. She would not put the life of her child at risk. Loghain... Alistair could not say. He did not know the man enough to make an educated guess, but he seemed like a loose cannon.

Putting the brush to one side, Alistair reached to a shelf in the stable for a hoof pick. His horse glanced back at him, chewing at the hay dangling from a feeder. Outside the stable he could hear the grooms bustling around, readying feed for the other horses. Some were carrying saddles and bridles, though Alistair only knew that because he heard the cling of metal.

Skimming his hand down the horses back left leg, he clicked his tongue several time coaxing her to rise her hoof off the ground delicately. He scraped away the dirt from one hoof, then the other before moving to the front legs. Roo chuffing excitedly from outside stopped him and he went to the door to peer out, thinking it might be Roselyn.

He was surprised when he saw Fiona in the stable yard, wrapped up against the cold in a thick cloak and scarf. Roo bounced around her, and Alistair noticed how much more easily she smiled when she didn't think she was being watched. She looked younger than her years, like there was less of a weight on her shoulders.

"Roo," he called to the mabari who bounded over to him, hopping onto her hind legs and perching her front legs on the stable door. Fiona lifted her eyes meeting his gaze, looking almost shocked, her pale cheeks flushed against the cold. Rubbing the dogs head, he offered a smile to the elven woman, hoping to put her at ease. "Were you looking for me?"

"Not actively, Your Ma..." Fiona paused, "Highness."

"Alistair is fine." He told her. She approached and came to lean on the stable door while Roo dropped to her feet. Alistair retreated further into the stable to resume the grooming of his horse.

"I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No," he clicked his tongue, lifting the horses foot. "Just giving myself a bit of time out of the palace away from..." he waved his hand dismissively, "You know."

"Are you alright?" Fiona inquired. Her tone gave him pause. She sounded so sincere, so earnest in her question that he looked up at her from his strained position to find her watching him. After a moment of silence she lifted her eyes to the horse and stroked her gloved hand across its cheek.

"I'm fine," Alistair answered after a beat of silence. "Well," he rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, "as fine as can be expected." Fiona said nothing in response and Alistair finished his task before standing up straight. He changed the hoof pick for a comb and started to ease out the matted tangles in his hunter's mane. After a tense few minutes where Fiona stroked the horse almost as if in a trance, he cleared his throat. "Did you... need me for something?"

"No, no." She retracted her hand and retreated from the stable door. "Are you sure I'm not disturbing you?"

"I'm sure," he smiled. "How are things in the Alienage?" He decided to ask about something that he hoped would make her feel more comfortable. Since Fiona's arrival in the palace months ago, she always seemed on edge around him. Never truly relaxed. In truth, this was the first time to his mind the two of them had spoken without anyone else around.

"Things are going very well Your--" She tutted, "Alistair." He noticed she almost looked in pain when she said his name. "Shianni is very eager for you to visit and see all the improvements that have been made. She says the work and improved houses will benefit so many of the elves with winter."

"Good," Alistair nodded. "That's good. At least one thing has gone right while I've been in charge." He sighed and glanced up over at the stable door. Fiona fiddled with a small ring on her finger, pretending to examine her fingernails. "You know..." Alistair pursed his lips, trying to think of a conversation starter.

"Shouldn't you be up in the palace?" interjected Fiona. "I'm surprised you were allowed out at all, given how precarious the situation is."

"Don't remind me," he rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "I managed to get away for an hour. I needed to get some air, get away from... everything. Everyone." He swayed back onto his heels and the balls of his feet. "Before you got here I was thinking about my father." He was not sure why he brought it up, or even where the topic came from. But it was something to talk about, something that wasn't awkward small talk.

In truth, he barely mentioned his father to anyone since his death. Everyone mourned him, and offered their condolences, but up until right that moment no one mentioned him. Now Alistair thought on it, everyone referred to Maric as 'the King' or 'his Majesty' when they talked about him. They never referred to him by name, not to Alistair at least. The realisation of that almost made him want to laugh. Almost.

"You were thinking about your father?" Fiona said, breaking Alistair from his thoughts. He lifted his head to look at her, suddenly aware that he had gone silent.

"Yes." He resumed his task, teasing the comb through the mane of his horse. "I was thinking about how he was made King after the Orlesians were forced out of Ferelden and the occupation was ended. He was a King of war time, he never settled easily into peace. As far as I was told."

"Maric always liked to be busy."

"Of course. Did you know him well?"

Fiona offered a small, enigmatic smile. "Well enough," she explained. "Better than some, but not as well as I believed."

"Hmm..." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was thinking that I don't know if I would be able to make that call."

"What call is that?"

"About sending my people off to fight. I know they're not _my_ people, not really. But I don't know if I would be able to make that choice. To willingly send the people I am supposed to care for off to die for a cause." He sighed, brows drawing low over his eyes. "How does someone _make_ that kind of choice? And live with the consequences of their actions? I don't think I could."

"You might have to, one day," remarked Fiona. "I pray it will not happen, but if you secure the throne, it may be something you will have to face. I cannot imagine it is an easy choice, or one that Maric came to lightly. But sometimes war is the only option. Diplomacy can only do so much."

"I know," Alistair leaned against the wall of the stable. He ruffled his fingers through his hair, turning his gaze on the elven mage. "Anora would make the choice. She wouldn't flinch. She would weigh up what was better for Ferelden and do it. She's not like me."

"She is not."

"I'm a coward. Afraid. I want the people to like me. To feel that I would be better than my father. I might have support from those in the noble houses, but without the support of the people it's meaningless."

"And Anora has that support?"

"The people have always loved her," his lips quirked into a grim smile. "She's the daughter of a commoner, one of their own. He rose from inauspicious roots to become a Teyrn. She married the crown Prince and was to become Queen. The common people would flock to her banner if she asked them to. They would welcome her on the throne without hesitation."

"You think they will not welcome you?" Fiona reached towards him, her fingers hovering above his arm before she gently laid her hand there. "From what I understand, the people like you just as well as Anora. I am told by the merchants who come to the Alienage and the servants here that before all this occurred you were out most days visiting the labourers who work the fields? That there was not one person in the palace whose name you did not know? The people who come to petition you, the common folk, seem to be very fond of you."

"Maybe because they feel like they don't have a choice?"

"How so?"

"Maybe they think they _have_ to like me, because I'm Maric's bastard. If they knew that Anora was pregnant? That she was potential candidate for the throne..."

"They might prefer her, yes," Fiona mused. "Or they might not care at all."

"Oh?"

"The common folk rarely care who sits on the throne, as long as there is someone to sit in it. They are too busy worrying about their own lives," she explained kindly. "They worry about whether their crops will grow well and if there will be enough to go around. If the cow will give enough milk, or what they will sell at the market."

"So... you're saying they probably won't care, either way?"

"Not that. I believe, perhaps, you are thinking too much on this one point. There will always be people who prefer someone else over you, it is inevitable. You cannot make everyone like you, not even with force. But you have a choice." She paused, opening her hands to demonstrate. Lifting her left hand, Fiona continued. "You can choose to focus on the people who admire and respect you already, and do what you can to keep them on your side, while hoping your decisions will not be frowned upon by others." She lifted her right hand. "Or, you can worry and put all your efforts into trying to get those who will never like you, to like you while alienating those who already do." She moved her hands up and down, as if weighing a scale until she held them steady. "It is a delicate balancing act, one you already seem to have mastered. Maybe you are finding things to worry about unnecessarily?"

He laughed. "You're probably right."

"My point, though I am going about making it in a very roundabout way, is that you are not the coward you say you are," Fiona sighed, her expression pulling into one of thought. There was a second, a brief moment where it was like Alistair was watching his reflection. He recognised the expression as one he made at himself in the mirror some times. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Just because you do not think you will be able to make the hard choices, does not mean you won't make them when it is necessary. And sometimes, not making a choice _is_ making a choice." She offered a small, weak smile and then tucked her hair behind her ear. "But I fear I have stolen too much of your time, and you do not want to listen to an old woman prattle on."

"On the contrary," Alistair grinned, "It's nice to talk rhetoric with someone. You certainly have given me some food for thought."

"Well, I'm pleased I could distract you for a while," Fiona smiled. Alistair noticed how her eyes crinkled at the corners. She stepped away from the stable door and turned. Alistair heard the sound of boots crunching through the snow, moving fast. "Though I think perhaps you are required elsewhere."

Through the open top of the stable door Alistair saw Teagan appear, flushed and out of breath. He deposited the comb for his horse’s mane on the shelf and quickly slipped out of the stable, bolting the door behind him.

"There you are, Alistair," Teagan puffed. "I've been looking for you. The lawyers think they might have a solution to the right of succession. They want to present it to you now."

"Really?" Alistair's eyes widened, "That was faster than expected."

"Duncan has gone to find Anora and Roselyn, Loghain is already waiting in the council room," Teagan beckoned and began to retreat back towards the palace. Alistair bowed to Fiona, turned and followed after his uncle.

Walking into the council room, Alistair was met with tense silence and eyes staring at him. On one side of the table were three of the lawyers who were tasked with finding a solution. The three eldest men and with the most experience. Alistair only knew them by their first names and had not taken time to get to know them so as not to influence their findings. Ruben was the youngest of the three but was still in his fifties, greying with a hooked nose and long chin. Nikolas was from Antiva originally and still had the drawl of the accent despite living in Ferelden for some time. Halvar was an elf, the oldest and it showed. He was not in the best of health physically, plagued with gout and various ailments, but his mind was one of the sharpest in Thedas. They had all worked for Maric at one point or another.

Opposite the three lawyers was Roselyn with a vacant chair beside her. There was a sizeable gap between her and where Anora was sitting with Loghain looming over her like some ominous shadow. Duncan stood on the side of the table with the lawyers, an impartial party. Teagan joined him as Alistair took his seat beside Roselyn.

Immediately he took her hand and leaned into to press a kiss to her lips. He ignored the audible complaint about decorum and about ‘time and place’ from Loghain. Roselyn squeezed his fingers. He noticed that Anora glanced over at them both before fixing her gaze ahead of her and at the top of the table. He knew they'd spoken and the discussion did not go well. The gap between their seats was big enough to sail a barge through.

After settling into his chair Alistair stretched out his legs and cleared his throat, “So? What have you found?”

Loghain butted in before anyone could respond, “Whatever the result, if they do not find in favour of Anora’s claim I will summon my own people who are not incompetent and have them examine the evidence.”

“Father...”

“That this has even been an issue and is being examined is an insult. Anora is the rightful Queen as Cailan's widow. And her child the rightful heir to the throne.”

“You agreed to the terms of this arrangement Teyrn Loghain,” Duncan said, his voice sharp. “If the outcome is not to your liking, then by all means bring in your own people to go through the documents and evidence gathered. But I would imagine they would find the same.”

“I doubt it,” snorted Loghain. “These cretins are likely in the pocket of the bastard Prince.”

"Please, do talk about me like I'm not here," Alistair sighed.

“I can assure you we are not,” Nikolas growled, glaring from beneath neatly trimmed eyebrows. “Our loyalty is to the crown and we have come to a conclusion which benefits the crown.”

“Forgive me if I do not believe an Antivan,” Loghain sneered.

“Oh, for the love of the Maker…” Roselyn muttered under her breath.

Nikolas’ nostrils flared. “I have lived in Ferelden longer than I ever lived in Antiva. I consider myself a Ferelden far more than Antivan.”

“Hm,” Loghain shrugged, though Alistair was not certain he was even listening to Nikolas as his eyes were turned on Roselyn. Alistair ran his thumb across her knuckles feeling his skin grow cold at Loghain’s expression. “You have something to say, Princess?”

“No,” Roselyn rolled her eyes. “I _was_ wondering if it was just Orlesians you hated, but it seems that it is anyone not of Ferelden descent. How very good of you to make sure your racial intolerance is all inclusive.”

“Perhaps if you knew how things were during the Orlesian occupation, you would feel the same,” Loghain bit out. “Though I am given to understand your family is quite partial to the finer things Orlais has to offer. So no wonder you lack education.”

“Or perhaps you can’t let go of your deep seated bigotry where others can,” Roselyn sniped back.

“You imperti—“

“Enough!” barked Alistair. “The both of you, this is getting us nowhere.” Loghain straightened and squared his shoulders, while Roselyn settled her hands in her lap demurely, her lips drawn into a firm line. “Loghain, you agreed to this investigation. At least hear what they have to say before you start complaining.”

“Well said, Alistair,” Teagan nodded.

“Please continue,” Alistair indicated to Nikolas who smiled briefly. He gently nudged Halvar who remained silent, pouring over the documents in front of him. When Nikolas got his attention they exchanged a few muttered words and Nikolas indicated to one particular sheet of paper covered in a curving scrawl.

Halvar took it between long gnarled fingers, permanently crooked from holding a quill. He scanned the words several times, pursing his lips and sucking them dry. It was the only noise in the room and it set Alistair on edge.

Minutes of silence passed while Halvar reacquainted himself with the details. Alistair and those in the room waited in respectful quiet, though he could feel tension pulsing in the room. Anora examined her fingers on the table. Loghain stood perfectly still, his face drawn into a severe frown, clearly annoyed by the delay in proceedings. Both Duncan and Teagan stood the most casually, hands at their sides or behind their back in Duncan's case. They were the only two to speak, exchanging conspiratorial whispers. Roselyn had not moved since placing her hands in her lap. Alistair reached for one, wanting to reassure her and her own reassurance. He caught a glimpse of her smile when he brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

When Halvar cleared his throat it took everyone by surprise, an audible gasp rising from those in the room. Slowly, Halvar got to his feet. Ruben supported him at the elbow until the old elf was steady, pressing one hand onto the table for control.

"The right of succession is no easy matter to examine," Halvar began, his voice shaking with his age. "In the history of Ferelden I do not know of any issue like this arising where there have been two claimants. Both with their own cases and their own strong ties to the throne."

"We know all this," barked Loghain growing impatient. "Get to the point."

"Loghain," Duncan's voice held a rumble of warning. Alistair managed not to smirk, not wanting to sully the seriousness of the situation.

"We have examined all documents and evidence pertaining to both claims. Prince Alistair, though born a bastard was legitimized in his sixth year after the death of Queen Rowan left the late King Maric with only one heir, the late Prince Cailan," Halvar scanned the paper in front of him. "All documents legitimizing the Prince are accurate and official. They have all be signed by the King, and stamped with the royal seals. All proceedings were witnessed by Duncan of Highever and by Arl Eamon Guerrin. And in King Maric's own will, it is specified that should Cailan die without children, Alistair should be King."

"That solves it then," Teagan remarked. "Alistair is King by rights. The evidence is in his favour."

"I said, _should_ be King," Halvar lifted a shaking hand to silence Teagan. "There is more."

Loghain smiled unpleasantly, "Quite right, Teagan. Do not be so quick to discount my daughter."

"The Princess Anora," Halvar continued, reading from the page before him, "While she has no claim to the throne through blood, she does have a claim through marriage. Though a tenuous one."

"She was married to the Crown Prince of Ferelden," Loghain leaned back, standing to his full height with his arms folded across his chest. "How is that a 'tenuous' claim?"

Halvar met Loghain's gaze, "Because she had not delivered an heir as was her duty as Princess, and the next Queen of Ferelden when Cailan took the throne. It was believed she was barren. This miracle of her pregnancy seems quite timely."

Alistair noticed then how Anora clenched her hands into fists and lowered them into her lap. She kept her eyes low, demure, but he could see her fighting not to step in and defend herself.

"I dislike your tone, old man. Exactly what is it you are insinuating?" Loghain placed a large hand on Anora's shoulder. "Are you suggesting the child is not Cailan's?"

"I am suggesting nothing, Teyrn Loghain," Halvar replied with a slow disarming smile. "It is you who has made that suggestion. Why? Is there gossip? I have been shut away coming to a conclusion for this issue that I have not heard any."

Loghain's face contorted, his skin turning almost purple. Alistair squeezed Roselyn's hand feeling himself relax. Halvar was toying with Loghain, putting him through his paces. He would not do so if the outcome was in Anora's favour.

"Halvar," Duncan stepped in, putting an end to his teasing. "What is it that you have concluded with Anora's claim?" he asked.

"Anora has no claim," Halvar explained, his eyes dropping to Anora who was staring at the table, unseeing. Loghain's hand clenched on her shoulder. "Her husband is dead, and she has no claim by blood. The claim is that of the child who, once born, will have a claim by right of blood. Cailan was Maric's legitimate heir, and given the child is the outcome of a union between the legitimate heir to the throne and not a bastard, it would have a claim as strong as Alistair's."

Alistair ran a hand over his face, ruffling his fingers through his beard. This was not the outcome he was expecting. It seemed for all their research and diligent study of the evidence before them, there was still no decision. No one of them who's claim was stronger. "So..." he choked out, "So what is it we do then? Am I to rule until the baby comes of age and then abdicate?"

"Anora will rule as regent," Loghain remarked. "She is the child's mother. And I will assist her."

Roselyn scoffed, "Or you'll rule, while Anora and the child are nothing more that your pretty marionettes."

"I beg your pardon?" Loghain's mouth gaped open, eyes blazing. Roselyn kept her eyes forward, refusing to meet Loghain's gaze out of stubbornness. Her jaw was set, her shoulders square and ridged. When Loghain did not get a response, he turned his ire on Alistair, "You should control your wife better, Alistair. She runs at the mouth and it will get her into trouble one of these days."

"I find working with her yields better results that control ever would," Alistair replied.

"Hm. Take a lesson from the Ash Warriors. They teach that giving a mabari bitch a long lead teaches them disrespect. You are the master, she the hound. If you do not rein her in, she will drag you where she wants to go."

Alistair bristled, "What did you say?"

"It's lucky I'm a woman and not a mabari bitch then, isn't it?" Roselyn said sweetly. "Halvar, please continue."

Settling back in his seat, Alistair grasped Roselyn's hand and felt her shaking. He squeezed her fingers, wishing he could conclude this farce of a meeting and take her into privacy so she could calm down. So they could both calm down.

"Yes..." Halvar coughed. "With the difficulty presented to us of finding one of you with the stronger claim, we came to another conclusion which would benefit everyone involved."

"Which is?" snapped Loghain.

"If Alistair were to divorce the Princess Roselyn, he would be free to marry the Princess Anora. They could rule as King and Queen, while the child is born into the royal bloodline. Alistair can then raise the child as his own, until such time as he and Anora have their own children." Halvar placed his paper on the table. He was smiling, clearly pleased with the solution he and his companions had come to.

The rest of the room was silent. Alistair saw eyes scanning every other person's face. Duncan and Teagan both stood with their mouths agape, while Anora's skin had gone pale. Loghain was silent, staring at Halvar and Roselyn was perfectly still, her expression perfectly passive though Alistair could feel her pulse racing through her palm against his.

Divorce Roselyn to marry Anora and raise the child as his own, until they had their own children? _This_ was their great solution? For him to leave the woman he loved and marry his brother's widow? A woman he used to think of as a sister and now saw only as a stranger grasping for power? To be bound to her, to her monstrous father? To raise his brother's child? The thought made his stomach turn and his skin grow cold. He could almost hear his father and brother laughing in his head. This would have amused them endlessly. Putting him in such an arrangement where he would hate it and be miserable. He would despise it.

He and Anora were once friends, cordial and cool, but friends. He could never imagine being married to her. Let alone sleeping with her or having children. No. The person he loved was Roselyn. The woman he wanted to wake up to every morning was Roselyn. The woman he wanted to have his children was Roselyn. This... This solution was not solution at all! It was a joke. A sick joke. And it would be torture on both him and Anora.

"No," he said the word without thinking, snapping everyone back into the room.

"Prince Alistair?" Halvar blinked, his pleased smile faltering.

"No," Alistair said again, brow furrowing. "This is a terrible idea. An absolutely _awful_ idea. I am not going to marry Anora. I am not divorcing my wife to marry Cailan's widow."

"I agree," Anora added. "Alistair is already married. I do not want to settle for a replacement for my husband."

"Do not be so hasty," Loghain interjected rubbing his hand across his daughter's shoulder. "This... might not be such a terrible idea." His voice was smooth, soft, and calming. It made Alistair's flesh crawl. He was on high alert in an instant, getting to his feet.

"I said no," he growled.

"Alistair," Duncan caught his attention. "Do not be so rash to rebuff the idea." Alistair's eyes widened. He could not believe that Duncan was for this ludicrous suggestion. He had come to respect Duncan in the months past. He was a quiet sort, but seemed sensible. That he would support such a wild idea took Alistair by surprise. "You and Roselyn could divorce quietly, an impediment could be found and the marriage could be annulled. After all, you have no children and as far as we know, Roselyn is not pregnant."

"Duncan..." Alistair's mouth dropped open. "You... You cannot be serious about this." He shook his head. "Teagan?" He looked to his uncle who only met his gaze for a moment before dropping it to the floor. Teagan's silence was his assent and Alistair felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down his back. "And... and what would happen to Roselyn?"

"She could return to Highever, we could arrange a new match for her which takes her far from Denerim and Ferelden." Halvar suggested dismissively. "Or she could go to the Chantry and take vows. Live out the rest of her days as a sister."

Alistair was horrified. He could not breathe - it felt like his ribs were constricting around his lungs suffocating him. His throat was dry and he gulped, trying to wet it so he could speak. His head was pounding, too many things rocketing around in his brain.

"You're all in agreement on this, aren't you?" Alistair asked, breathing hard. "That this is the best course of action?"

"It is the best for Ferelden," Teagan murmured.

"No," Anora slammed her palms down on the table, sending shocks through everyone as the noise reverberated around the room. "I said, **_NO_**! I will not marry Alistair! I will not trade one brother for the other. I will not be a pawn in this. I will make my own choice, and if I am to rule as regent, it will be alone!" Anora’s voice softened for a moment as she gazed across the table at both Alistair and Roselyn, “I will not enter another loveless marriage or force one upon people dear to me.”

"Anora --"

" ** _DON'T_** ," She recoiled out of Loghain's reach. Alistair saw a flicker of anger flash across his face before he controlled it. "Do not touch me. I will not agree to this!"

"Neither will I," Alistair stated, pressing his palms flat onto the table. "Find another solution!"

"What does Princess Roselyn have to say about this?" inquired Duncan, his eyes turning to where she sat, as still and as silent as a gargoyle. "My Lady?" he offered.

Roselyn lifted her eyes, her face controlled, betraying nothing. She had learned well from Anora; even Alistair could not tell what she was thinking or feeling at that moment. She gracefully got to her feet, pushing her chair out slowly. She dampened her lips, swallowing and glancing around. She took a breath, and then her courage failed. She shook her head and stepped back sending the chair clattering to the floor. "Please, excuse me," she half walked and half ran to the door. "I suddenly feel quite unwell." She wrenched it open, speeding passed the confused guards.

"Rose!" Alistair shoved his chair back.

"Roselyn! Wait!" Anora shouted after her, trying to get to her feet though Loghain held her fast. Alistair strode towards the doors of the chamber, ignoring the cries for his attention coming from those in the room. Someone caught up with him and grabbed him around the wrist.

"Alistair, get a hold of yourself!" Teagan snapped at him. "This is for Ferelden! You need to think of--"

"No," Alistair snarled. "I said I would rule Ferelden, I didn't say I would sacrifice my wife or my happiness to do it." He snatched his arm back, glowering at his uncle. "Find another solution, or consider me out of the line of succession."

Without waiting for another response he charged out of the council room into the main hall. The murmur of conversation came to an abrupt stop when courtiers caught sight of him. They parted for him as they walked, creating a path towards the main doors and to what Alistair considered freedom.

His head was spinning as he raced down the hallway towards the royal apartments and where he hoped Roselyn had gone. How could they...? Why would they...? What possessed them to think he would ever divorce Roselyn? Their marriage might have been an arranged one, but it was more than that now. He loved her. She loved him. They were husband and wife in the truest sense of the word. They were a perfect match. She made him stronger. Made him want to be better than he ever was before. How could any of them think he would leave her for Anora or for Ferelden? He might have loved his home land, but if it was a choice between the throne or Roselyn, there was no contest. Roselyn won every time.

He had told her he would give up everything if there was ever a threat to their marriage, and by the Maker, he meant it! He had not offered hollow words in the hopes of getting into her small clothes. He was honest, and ardent in his vows to her in the Chantry so many months ago. Anora, her child, even Loghain could have the throne if it meant he stayed with Roselyn.

When he entered their rooms, slamming the doors behind him, he found Roselyn pacing back and forth dragging her hands down the front of her bodice while breathing fast. Her cheeks were flushed, hair in disarray where she had pulled it from the neat style it was set into that morning. She turned wide eyes on him pausing for a moment before she resumed her pace.

"Rose--"

"They're right," she interrupted him. "You marrying Anora is best for Ferelden. It makes sense."

Alistair stopped in his tracks. His stomach fell to his feet and the whole world went silent and still for what might have been hours. His heart was thudding in his throat, choking him. Of all the things he expected her to say, that was _not_ one of them.

"No."

"We can't be selfish."

"Rose – "

"Ferelden matters."

Alistair balled his hands into fists, "You matter more!"

She stopped and shook her head, "Not as much as Ferelden does." Sighed she raked her fingers roughly through her hair. "If we'd slept together when we were supposed to, this wouldn't be an issue. I'm so stupid."

Alistair's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He was not sure what he was hearing. Did she think their idea was the best one? Was that what she was trying to tell him? That he should be with Anora? Despite their feelings? Despite their relationship and their marriage?

"You're not stupid," he closed the space between them and turned her towards him. "I'm not marrying Anora."

Roselyn's face scrunched into a frown, "You _have_ to. They're right. It's the only logical option. The throne stays with the Theirin bloodline. The baby is raised by family, and at least you'll be on the throne where you belong!"

"I don't care about the throne or the crown. Anora can have it! Loghain can have it!"

"We have to be sensible! We can't put ourselves first!"

"I am being sensible!" Alistair held her face between his hands, speaking with firm anger. Anger at the situation, not at her. "I am being sensible when it comes to taking care of Ferelden and her people. I am being sensible when I'm dealing with council, their complaints, and petitioners. I am being sensible about _everything_. But I will not be sensible and selfless about you. About this!"

"Alistair --"

"You're my wife. We're married. I told you, if anything threatened us then I would give up my claim, my titles, everything. And I meant it."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious," he searched her face for something, a sign of her softening, of her resolve crumbling. "If I'm going to be King, then you're going to be Queen alongside me. I'm not doing this without you. It's the both of us, or nothing at all."

"But --"

"No buts." He smothered the rest of her words with his lips crashing against hers, one hand winding back through her hair, the other down to cradle the small of her back bringing her body against him. Roselyn relinquished to him, a weak murmur muffled by his mouth. He stepped forward and she followed, retreating until the small of her back was pressing into the edge of a table at the far side of the presence chamber. Alistair shoved the objects and papers away with a grand sweep of his hand, candle sticks and goblets clattering noisily to the floor, papers flying in all directions. He hoisted Roselyn onto the table top, his fingers pulling roughly at the ties of her bodice in a fierce eagerness to get to her skin beneath.

He felt raw and bruised after the meeting with the lawyers. Anger was flooding through his veins, making his blood boil. The mere idea that they would suggest him leaving her for Anora would have made him laugh if it didn't enrage him so much. He could only assume Roselyn felt the same by the way her kisses matched his in their hotness and the hardness with which she kissed him. She bit his bottom lip, fingernails scratching over his scalp making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The laces of her dress were not coming away fast enough. Alistair tore at them and was satisfied when he heard the rip of fabric. She had spent too long in dark colours; after today they would both return to the richer colours more familiar in the court. No more mourning. No more hesitation. If he was going to be King, and by the Maker, he was _going_ to be King, then they would present a unified package and look the part. No more dark, drab colours. The mourning weeds had to go.

Roselyn gasped and assisted in the removal of her bodice, pulling and ripping it away from her torso, yanking her arms from the sleeves. Alistair pulled at the heavy skirts. He found the clasp, unfastened it and grabbed handfuls of material before pulling, shredding it at the seams in a frantic need to get as close to his wife in as little time as possible. Roselyn shifted when he pulled the ruined skirt away, dropping it heavily onto the floor.

Her fingers tangled in the laces of his breeches, pulling at them impatiently. Alistair slid his hands up the backs of her calves and along her thighs towards her backside. Kneading his fingers into her flesh he pulled her to the edge of the table, tucking himself snugly between her legs. His breeches loosened, Roselyn pushed them down his legs until they were around his thighs. She wrapped her hand around his length, supplying soft, long strokes making him groan into her mouth. She smeared the pearl of precum over his crown and along his shaft, leaning back on one hand to take her weight.

Alistair tore at her small clothes with his fingers, the thin fabric giving way to his pawing. Another pair he had ruined, but considering he had destroyed her dress, the small clothes were the least of his concerns. He removed the garment with one hand, the other he curved down between her thighs, skimming his fingers along her wet heat. Roselyn bucked, muffling a soft whine with her lips pressed to his. She inhaled sharply through the corners of her mouth as he slipped one finger inside her, working it slowly against her muscles clamping around the intrusion.

She shuddered at his second finger joining the first, her legs growing tense around his hips as he worked his digits inside her. He enjoyed the way she clenched, the sharp gasps falling from her mouth when he curled his fingers to touch her in the perfect spot. Her thighs trembled and her hand around his cock stuttered on the strokes she supplied. When he brushed his thumb across the tight bulb of nerves at the hood of her sex, Roselyn whimpered, arching her head backward.

He worked her with his fingers and his thumb until she was a quivering mess, panting and sweating. Her fingernails digging into his shoulders Alistair buried his face in the crook of her neck kissing and biting her skin, lapping at her sweat with his tongue. He heard his name echo on her lips repeated over and over in a weak plea. Her hips rolled and ground into his hand building to a pace until Roselyn stopped abruptly. The noise she made ripping from deep inside her chest, a culmination of a growl, a groan, and a cry.

Withdrawing his fingers, Alistair smoothed his free hand up and down Roselyn's thigh feeling her shaking against him. He listened to the quick breaths she took, and kissed his way up her throat, claiming her mouth in a hard kiss. Squeezing her flanks he brought her to the very edge of the table. The crown of his erection nudged against the inside of her thighs. Roselyn pressed her heels into his lower back and with one hard quick thrust, Alistair sheathed himself inside her.

It was a sensation he would never tire of. That of being inside her, her walls contracting around him, hot and slick and welcoming. Together like this, even in the rough and ready way they found themselves now, Alistair felt wanted and happy. He felt complete, and there was nothing in the world that would take that feeling away from him.

Roselyn propped herself up with one hand on the table. The other she curved around the base of Alistair's skull, nails trailing along his skin and through the hair at the nape of his neck. Her eyes were half-hooded, meeting his gaze in a hazy confusion. He nuzzled her forehead, slowly starting to drive his hips. He hooked one arm around her back spreading his fingers as wide as they would go to hold her to him. The other hand he skimmed up over her sweaty skin, following the lines and curves of her hips and waist. He traced the roundness of her breasts, fingertips briefly teasing over a pebbled nipple before he cupped her face in his palm. Pressing a desperate kiss to her mouth, he broke away on a low moan and followed the line of her bottom lip with his thumb. Roselyn opened her mouth, biting down on the straying digit and tightened her legs around him.

His pace started slow, building faster and harder with each thrust into her. This was not lovemaking; something that took time and was reserved for their bed. This was rougher, more primal, fiercer, but something they both needed at that moment in time. To touch and feel and be felt. Reaffirmation. Roselyn's hand at the nape of his neck slipped up into his hair, grabbing a fistful. She brought his mouth to hers forcefully, her lips trembling against his with her heady kiss.

Grabbing her hand on the desk Alistair held it down, grappling for her other hand in his hair. He linked their fingers, pushing both their hands into the table top, anchoring them there. Roselyn held him, using her legs and to guide him inside her, each of his strokes hitting her core and causing delicious grunts to tumble from her mouth into his. The sweat under her palms caused her hands to slip and she toppled until her back was against the table. Alistair leaned over her, a wolfish grin on his mouth. He squeezed her fingers between his, biting at her lips and feeling her body jerk and quake beneath him.

Alistair felt her ankles lock behind him, digging into his flanks and urging him on. Her muscles tightened around his length, bringing the edge of bliss closer with every deep, furious drive of his hips. The sound of their skin slapping with each snap of their hips was joined by their own throaty groans, by their grunts and the repetition of each other's names peppered between clumsy kisses. Gritting his teeth, Alistair buried his face into the crook of Roselyn's neck inhaling the smell of her. Her fingers clenched around his and he felt sweat trickle down his spine. Licking at her throat, Alistair's pace grew frantic in a way which would leave them both sore. He lifted his head to press a weak kiss to her lips and brushed his nose over hers, a momentary act of tenderness amidst the intensity crushing them.

The puffs of her sharp breaths against his mouth burned him with their heat. Roselyn wriggled one hand free, pushing her fingers through his sweat dampened hair to cradle the back of his head. Alistair spread his loose hand out across her lower back, lifting her hips a little. His clenched his jaw, his brows furrowing before he burying himself inside of her, coming with a fulfilled groan of her name muffled by her lips.

For several minutes they remind entwined together, Alistair breathing hard with his face buried in Roselyn neck and her hair, her legs wrapped around him. A sweaty, satiated mess chasing the breath they each stole from the other.

Alistair's knees felt weak, his legs like they could not hold his weight; so when he gently withdrew from inside her, he supported himself with his palms flat down on the table. Roselyn remained on her back looking dazed and confused for a few seconds as if trying to comprehend what had just occurred. Alistair waited, holding his breath, waiting for her to say something. He had not intended for anything to happen.

When she turned her gaze on him blinking her grey eyes hard, his stomach sank. Then she offered a coy smile, gently pushing herself to sit upright. Alistair gave her the room he thought she wanted, stopping only when her hands came to slide across his waist, holding him fast between his legs. Her nakedness did not occur to him, neither did his half-dressed, sweaty state only the want to be close to her and feel connected.

Roselyn cushioned her cheek against his chest, arms wrapping around Alistair's waist. He stroked his fingers through her hair, curving his hand beneath her chin and tilting her head up. He placed a soft kiss on her nose, a sigh shuddering from between his lips. He wanted to apologise, but as he opened his mouth to do so, Roselyn quietened him with her mouth claiming his. He surrendered to her touch, to her embrace and the tenderness behind the gesture.

He pulled away brushing her nose with his, and smiled slowly, "No one is going to come between us," he told her, his voice deep and severe. "Not Loghain, not Anora, not even the Maker himself." He spoke with his lips just grazing hers, his fingers following the length of her spine. "I love you, and if they want me to be King, then you're going to be right there beside me."

"It's not as simple as that," Roselyn murmured. "You heard Halvar. The claims are both legitimate and strong."

"Then we make mine stronger," Alistair kissed her hard, pouring every ounce of his determination and conviction into the kiss. "I will not be forced to lose you. You're my wife. I love you. I will not allow anything to ruin this or break us apart." He nuzzled her forehead. "I promise."

Roselyn sighed, her hands coming to curve around his jaw. She looked directly at him, eyes scanning his face before she spoke. "I believe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to chapter thirteen! Chapter fourteen will be up soon!  
> As always, comments are appreciated so much. I love getting feedback. I'm sorry if I don't reply to everyone or in a timely manner. I get distracted and sometimes it's hard to reply to comments and not risk giving things away. But be assured, I do read EVERY comment. And they are amazing. I love them. <3


	22. Chapter 14: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: With the issue of succession and who should rule Ferelden still unsolved, Alistair and Roselyn begin to display a more united front and step into the official position of ruling, despite not being formally announced as in charge. They're given a day to go for a long overdue visit to the Alienage to see how building has progressed. Things seem calmer and more at ease in the palace, even with Loghain around. But there's no telling how long that will last when troubling news arrives from further afield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: nsfw
> 
> Appreciation to lovely beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) for being so helpful in this fic!

_One month later  
Month: Wintermarch_

\--

In the weeks that followed the meeting with Halvar and his staff, things at the palace resumed a normal pace. Alistair and Roselyn put on a united front, stepping into a ruling role that was not yet secure. They were rarely apart. Roselyn accompanied Alistair to council meetings, weighing in on points and issues as they arose. She was present when petitioners came before him, making pleasant conversation with commoners, workers, and anyone else who came by. Each day they hoped and waited for news of a solution to the quandary of succession, and each day they were left disappointed.

Halvar pushed for his initial solution, that Alistair should marry Anora, for days after they both rebuffed it. Even Teagan mentioned it in passing several times, until Alistair lost his temper with them both. At least Alistair and Anora were of the same mind on this issue. Neither saw it as a viable solution and were unified in the rejection of such a ludicrous plan.

Anora kept to herself, walking the grounds with Erlina and her ladies-in-waiting or confined to her rooms. Roselyn considered writing to her to apologise for her line of questioning in the gardens before but each letter sounded trite and insincere and ended up in the fireplace. She stopped by to visit twice, but both times Erlina turned her away at the door, making excuses that Anora was indisposed, asleep, or unwell. Roselyn could not blame her for not wanting to see her. She regretted the way she spoke to her before, considering they were once close friends and Anora was only reaching out. She missed that closeness, that friendliness between them. Whenever they saw each other there was a tangible tension, an unspoken animosity. Until the issue of succession was resolved, Roselyn feared that tension would remain.

Loghain left for Gwaren after Halvar's suggestion was rejected, saying he needed to take care of a few things in Gwaren as he was going to be absent longer than he anticipated. Both Roselyn and Alistair hoped he was gone for good, but he returned after two weeks in high spirits. The reason for his elevated mood was a mystery to everyone. Even Anora was surprised by her father's almost jovial attitude along with the rest of the court.

Roselyn found herself on edge whenever Loghain was around. He was polite to her when she had come to expect curt gruffness. He took interest in the goings on around court and asked after her family, suggesting she and Alistair should visit Highever before Wintersend. Alistair thought it a good idea and would arrange it when issues at court were resolved. After that Loghain's mood soured again and he returned to sneering at her and barking orders.

News from Highever was positive. Fergus accepted Roselyn's invitation for the family to come to the palace for Wintersend. He wrote that their parents were excited to see her and that Oren was determined to show her how well he could wield a blade. Their visit was months away but the prospect of spending the holiday with her family gave Roselyn something to look forward to. Fergus mentioned briefly how they were entertaining a friend and ally of their father's at Highever; Arl Rendon Howe was visiting from Amaranthine. His family were due to join him once the roads were cleared after becoming waterlogged and muddy.

She remembered Arl Howe only because she could recall the fallout between him and her father when the news of Fergus marrying Oriana was delivered. Fergus was supposed to marry Howe's daughter since they were promised to each other as children. The insult had almost caused a war to break out between the two families before Maric settled it peacefully. The Couslands paid the Howe's handsomely for the insult Fergus's indiscretion had caused them and both families resumed a cooler friendship than they had before.

Despite there still being no one on the throne and the tensions surrounding Maric's successor continuing to run high, Roselyn found she was happy, content. Working alongside Alistair she had little time to be bored or lonely. They rarely found time during the day for themselves, being kept busy by the demands of the court.

Which was why, when Roselyn awoke on the one day they had scheduled for themselves, she moaned into her pillow and tried to hide from the light sneaking through the drapes. They had arranged an opportunity to get out of the palace to do work in the city after Loghain left. Shianni wrote them about visiting the Alienage and Fiona approached Alistair on more than one occasion. Their plan was to visit the Alienage in the morning, see the completed building work, and then spend the afternoon talking to townsfolk and merchants throughout Denerim to get a better overview of how things were. It was a sound plan, one Teagan endorsed, but it required getting out of bed. A difficult task at the best of times, harder when there was a foot of snow outside, a biting wind, and the bed was cosy and warm.

Roselyn tucked herself further under the covers away from the cold of outside. Alistair's body curved around hers,  cocooning her, one arm draped lazily over her hip and his other arm stretched out under her pillows. It was a position they found themselves in most mornings. Roselyn stretched out her limbs with a low moan and trembled at her muscles contracting and then relaxing. Behind her Alistair shifted to be closer, his hips pressing into her backside. He nuzzled the back of her neck pressing a soft kiss to her skin. Through his thin bed clothes Roselyn could feel the familiar length of his morning erection press into her haunches. She wriggled, biting her lip at the way Alistair murmured behind her.

"You're doing that on purpose," he rumbled. His hand at her hip was no longer draped, his fingers moving to hold her.

"Doing what?" asked Roselyn, playing innocent and coy while grinning.

"You know what."

"I don't think I do," she feigned ignorance while repeating the motion of her backside rocking into the curve of his body. Another groan and she felt Alistair's forehead lean against the top of her back, his breath hot on her skin.

"Rose..." he laughed roughly. Alistair drove his hips with purpose, his hand at her hip coming to slide down between her thighs, cupping her through her small clothes. Roselyn gasped and giggled, grabbing his hand and beginning to grind into it. Alistair rutted clumsily behind her, hips stopping and starting and his lips dragging over the skin of her upper back where her baggy shirt gaped open. His arm beneath her pillows was quickly on her body too. He moved it under her, sliding his hand beneath the fabric to grope at her breasts.

He rolled a nipple between his fingers, bringing it to a swift peak which he then pinched. He ran the rough pads of his thumb across her sensitive skin while his fingers kneaded into her flesh. He shifted closer, his lips trailing over the top of her back until he could bite down at the curve of her neck. Roselyn hissed, his teeth sinking hard enough to mark until he soothed the offended area with his lips.

"You're insatiable, you know that?" he mumbled into her ear. "Last night. _Now_. I've only just woken up and look what we're doing."

"I was only stretching and I think you'll find _you're_ the one with their hand between my legs," Roselyn retorted playfully, enjoying the low, throaty chuckle that tumbled from his lips.

"Right, I suppose I am." He pressed insistently against her mound, fingers slipping the gusset of her undergarments aside so he could touch her. Passed the coarse hair Roselyn knew he would be able to feel how wet and aroused she was already. It was funny; in the past the idea of him knowing how easily he awoke such a base and primal instinct would have been humiliating. Now, she relished him knowing and looked forward to his touches. Roselyn gave an involuntary moan in reaction to his stroking, arcing her hips forward into his hand eagerly. He nipped the shell of her ear, "Maker's breath, someone's _very_ excited this morning."

"Shut up." Roselyn groaned, her hips stuttering as he began circling her clit with the tip of his finger.

Another rough, still sleep weighted chuckle spilled from Alistair's mouth. Roselyn reached behind her, grabbed a handful of the material of his trousers and pulled at them insistently. She tugged blindly, somehow wrenching them down over Alistair's hips and thighs until she had bare flesh beneath her palm. She dug her fingers into his thigh, grinding back into his pelvis. His erection slipped between the cheeks of her arse, droplets of precum smearing across her skin.

Alistair grunted and pawed at her small clothes, dragging them down her legs. Unbidden, Roselyn rolled over to face him, claiming his mouth in a hard kiss. He spread one hand wide over her back, holding her to him while his free hand yanked underwear off. Hooking her leg over his hip, Roselyn followed to kneel over him as Alistair moved onto his back. She giggled and squealed excitedly into his mouth when he squeezed her backside causing her to push her hips forward. He pulled his shirt off and then hers, tossing them both towards the foot of the bed. Roselyn grasped his hands, grinding and rolling her hips smoothly, his shaft cushioned between her mound and his pelvis. Her arousal coated his cock, making it slick and slide easily between her lower lips.

She watched him watching her, biting her bottom lip and squeezing his fingers between her own. She thought she would grow accustomed to Alistair's eyes on her over time, but each time she found herself entranced by the way he looked at her. He drank her in, examined every inch of her naked body positioned above him. He licked his lips and groaned softly when she moved her hips in a circular motion against his shaft. Every subtle hitch in his breathing made her desire for him stronger and the warmth in her belly increase. She knew if his hands were free they would be exploring where his eyes lingered.

When he met her gaze, his eyes looked darker, his pupils dilated and his cheeks were scarlet. He wrestled to get a hand free but Roselyn held him fast, smirking a little at the flash of annoyance that crossed his face. Quickly a cocky smile slipped over his lips and he stopped struggling.

"I have to say, this is definitely my favourite view in all Thedas," Alistair stated, smirking up at her.

Roselyn answered him only by quirking a brow and gently moving her hips in the same languid circular motion. She watched his eyes roll back and he pushed his head into the pillows with a grunt. His jaw clenched, she heard him hissing, and inhaling sharply each time she moved. His nostrils flared and his skin darkened with a flare of colour across chest causing imperfections to appear more pronounced.

Roselyn felt delirious with each shift of her body over his. The familiar heat and need for him pulsating through her veins made her throb between her legs. She arched her head back, a low moan rising from within her chest as her hips stuttered and she rubbed against him. She enjoyed the pleasurable tingle, the rising friction, and the tension growing in her gut. So early in the morning everything felt more sensitive, more alive, and her nerves seemed to dance like flames under her skin.

Alistair wriggled his hands free and dragged his fingertips up and down over her breasts and rib cage, leaving a pleasant prickling sensation trailing behind his touch. He sat up, his lips kissing at her throat, teeth nibbling up and over her jaw. Digging his hands into her haunches, he brought her closer easing her further up onto her knees. Roselyn giggled, cupping his face in her hands to press quick, soft kisses to his lips. One hand disappeared from her body ducking between her legs to grasp at his cock. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders when she felt the crown of his length stroke along her slit before he guided her to sink down into his lap with a deep groan as he slid inside her.

"Maker, Rose..." Alistair moaned low, his lips pressed to her throat as she arched her head back and quivered to feel him inside her. "You really _are_ excited this morning."

He filled her completely, her body enveloping him with its heat and she her mind was too clouded to respond to his comment. Immediately she moved, slow and determined, drawing out the connection and closeness as long as possible. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, draping over her breasts when she inclined her head to nuzzle his forehead. Alistair breathed hard and fast. He nipped at her lips and his eyes darted from her mouth, to her gaze on him and back again.

She felt his hands across her back, spreading and holding her around her ribcage, his fingers almost bruising on her skin. Roselyn wound one hand back through his hair, gliding her fingers over his neck and shoulder. The other arm she extended, reaching beyond him to grab the headboard for extra support. Beads of sweat trickled over her skin, down her neck and between her breasts. As Alistair kissed her neck, she felt his tongue come forward to lap at her flesh. His thumbs followed the swell of her breasts stroking and skimming up over her sensitive nipples, making her shudder.

With each grind of her hips she felt him deeper, her body clenching and squeezing around him involuntarily. Alistair wrapped her up in his arms blocking any space between them. One hand cradled the base of her skull, fingers tangling into her hair and the other pressed into her lower back, tempting her pace to change. She obeyed him rocking faster as Alistair attempted to match her, driving up from his sitting position.

He dragged his nails down her back between her shoulder blades, forcing Roselyn to arch towards him. A deep laugh vibrated through his chest up through her making her skin prickle and fine hairs all over her body stand on end. He held her to him, one arm wrapped around her back kissing her soundly. When she realised he was moving, Roselyn wrapped her legs around his waist for support and her arms around his shoulders until she was flat on her back with him above her.

Still distracting her mouth, Alistair grabbed her hands and pushed them back into the bed above her head. He moved deeper, slower, withdrawing almost entirely before driving into her again, each gesture drawing out their morning encounter as long as possible. His grin devious and wolfish made Roselyn's stomach clench. He watched her from his elevated vantage point on his knees with rapt attention and enthusiasm. She lifted her hips, greeting every thrust and contracting around him enjoying the way he trembled and the brief changes in his expression. He pushed his pelvis down into hers, creating a rough friction at the hood of her sex with every movement. Roselyn's toes curled, her fingernails digging into the back of his hands.

Alistair groaned under the pressure building between them, Roselyn she could see him straining to hold on and denying himself the relief he sought in the way he set his jaw. Her belly knotted and coiled around itself, tightening like a spring ready to snap. She wanted more. She would always want more. After wriggling a hand free she pushed herself up with some effort to press a shaking kiss to her husband's mouth.

"Rose-?"

"F-faster." She flushed hot on her cheeks and averted her gaze hoping her embarrassment at asking was not too obvious. Alistair  tangled the fingers of his free hand in her hair and pressed a crushing kiss to her mouth. He obeyed her request, immediately quickening his pace. Roselyn hissed, biting his bottom lip. She closed her eyes, harshly whispered curses fell from her lips and her breath trembled when she inhaled, "Harder?"

Chuckling against her mouth, Alistair lifted his head to brush his lips up over the bridge her nose. "Why so shy?" he asked and angled his body, bring their hips together in sharp strokes. Roselyn fell flat on her back her answer descending into a low moan. He began to nudge and circle her clit with his thumb and Roselyn's stomach knotted. The sensation of him hitting her core with each connection of their hips sent a rush up her spine like a bolt of lightning. She clutched fruitlessly with her free hand at the sheets beneath her pressing her feet flat into the bed for purchase and curling her toes. Her vision grew hazy at the corners and she clenched her eyes closed until she could see brightly coloured spots on the inside of her eyelids. All at once the heat of her body boiled over and went crashing through her veins. The tightness in her gut snapped and Roselyn muffled a cry of satisfaction biting her bottom lip.

Alistair lurched forwards, releasing Roselyn's hand to slide an arm beneath her and crush her to him. He squeezed the inside of her thigh, spreading her legs a little wider and Roselyn could feel the muscles in his thighs and his haunches clenching with every move. His body slick against hers, she dug her nails into the muscles of his back, clumsily rocking up to meet his thrusts. He buried his face in her neck, teeth grazing along her shoulder. She felt the thunder of his heart hammering through his ribcage, heard his short, sharp gasps beside her ear. He buried himself inside her claiming her mouth with a heady kiss and going completely tense. A moan rumbled through him.

After a few moments he began to roll his hips slowly, his kisses becoming gentler and his hands moving around to stroke across what skin he could access.

"Good morning, wife," he greeted her smiling and catching his breath.

Roselyn laughed, running her fingers back through his hair. "Good morning, husband."

"We are terrible people," he said, grunting with the effort it took to climb off her and flopping onto his back. "Terrible, out-of-breath, sweaty people."

Roselyn rolled onto her front and perched herself on his chest. Alistair's large hands stroked up her back and her sides, cuddling her to him, "Why are we terrible people?"

"Because I don't think normal married people greet each other like that in the morning."

"Well," she shrugged one shoulder. "We're young. And it's not like we do that _every_ morning."

"I don't think I'd have the stamina if it was every morning," laughed Alistair. He hummed happily and closed his eyes while continuing to rhythmically stroke his fingers up and down Roselyn's back. She folded her arms over his chest and turned her head to rest her cheek against them while kicking her legs up behind her. She could feel his heartbeat slowing in his chest and she drew absent shapes over his skin until the beating was calm and steady.

"I'm glad we're having an easier day today." She said after long, contented silence where they both dozed.

"Me too." Alistair pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I'm looking forward to seeing the Alienage."

"Mhmm..."

"But that's not for a while. We don't even need to get up yet." Roselyn half screamed and half laughed when Alistair grabbed her and rolled them to be kneeling over her again, "And considering you awoke me at such an early hour and so rudely--"

"I did--"

He put a finger to her lips, grinning, "I think it only fair you make it up to me."

"Oh?" Roselyn cocked her head to one side and lightly grazed her teeth against the pad of his finger. "And how do you envision me doing that, dear husband?"

Alistair inclined to press against her forehead. "I'm certain we can think of something if we put our heads together." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"What were you saying about me being insatiable?" teased Roselyn giggling.

"What can I say?" He shrugged half heartedly and smiled, "You bring out the worst in me."

After spending several more hours in bed, sometimes sleeping and other times not, Roselyn and Alistair washed, dressed and ate before leaving the palace on horseback with Teagan and a small contingent of guards.

Denerim in the winter was like a completely different city. The snow sitting untouched on rooftops shimmered in the cold sunlight of the day. Smoke rose from chimneys, swirling right up into the clouds. Icicles hanging from the corners of guttering or from the eaves of merchant stores dripped, and refracted rainbows onto the snow when the light hit them just right. Children bundled up against the cold by fretting parents ran and shouted throwing snowballs at each other while pursued by barking dogs eager to play. Merchants called to passersby, practically smothered up in scarves and coats. Over it all was the low drone of the Chantry bells, a steady familiar song.

It was months since Roselyn had seen or visited the Alienage and she was not sure what to expect when her group drew they horses to a stop and dismounted.

They were greeted at the gates by Shianni and Fiona. The two of them were red faced, their noses, cheeks, and the tips of their ears glowing against the chill of the air. Alistair ordered the guards to hang back at the entrance to the Alienage which they did. He took Roselyn’s hand and they walked in together, shoulder to shoulder with Shianni.

The Alienage Roselyn remembered was not a pleasant one. She recalled depilated buildings and roofs full of holes. She remembered shutters hanging off windows by a hinge and doors propped up over doorways in an effort to keep put the weather. She could remember haunting, sunken eyes peering out of darkened hovels, afraid but threatening at the same time. The last time she saw the elves most, if not all, were underweight; thin, pale and dehydrated skin hanging off bone, lank hair. Many had been sitting in the streets with clothes barely fitting them. Even the venhadahl had looked sickly.

Now it was like walking into a different place filled with different elves.

The broken down buildings were replaced with new ones. Bigger and taller with stairs that came around the outside to lead up to a second or third floor. The mouldy and rotting wood was replaced by sturdy stone and daub. The roofs now made of thick slate had replaced the holes with chimneys. Windows were no longer gaps in the wall, they were made of thick glass, perfect for keeping out the cold and could be opened from the inside. Each window was framed with smart shutters, painted different colours on each house.

The streets were clear with the potholes filled. There were elves selling their own wares at their own stalls. They looked fatter too, well fed and healthy. They went about their business, pausing only to glance at Shianni and her guests.

Alistair talked amiably to Shianni and to Fiona, animated and cracking jokes while they walked through. Roselyn was almost bursting with pride. Every where she looked there were signs of the sketches Alistair had shown her months and months ago. These were his ideas and designs come to life and they _worked_. They were real, life size. People were living in them. He had done what his father and brother never did or could and made life better for the elves by simply listening to them.

Shianni led them around the Alienage, stopping at stalls and at homes she had permission to show them. Alistair talked to the merchants and the stall owners. He asked after their businesses and if the winter was going to cause them trouble. He asked those in their homes if they were warm enough and if there were any complaints about the homes. Draughts or problems with building materials that needed to be addressed. No matter what was mentioned, a big or small issue, Alistair had Teagan write it down so he could review it later and see if there was anything he could do about them immediately.

When it grew colder, the wind biting more through their clothing, Shianni led their small group into her home. It was warm inside, cosy and a sudden change from the outside chill. Roselyn sat when Alistair pulled a chair out for her. He leaned his hands on the back of the chair while Shianni filled a kettle and put it on the fire. She and Fiona spoke back and forth in the kitchen while Teagan quietly went over the list Alistair had been dictating.

"What do you think?" Alistair asked her while dusting snow off the shoulders of her cloak and hood.

"It's wonderful," Roselyn smiled. "You should be proud of yourself."

He grinned and blushed, bashful as always under praise. "I didn't really do anything. I just--"

"Don't sell yourself short," she chided him gently, tilting her head back. "This is because of you. Because of your housing designs. Because of you taking initiative and listening when people really needed to be heard."

The colour on his cheeks darkened and he kissed her forehead as a way to distract himself from her compliments. "Well... I... I mean, _hopefully_ the elves like it."

"Like it?" Shianni cut in, walking through from the kitchen with a steaming kettle. "You do know that you've given us a chance to actually thrive here, don't you? Not just survive."

"I didn't do any of the work..." Alistair's mouth quirked. "Really, the people who deserve the praise are the builders who could take my stupid scribbles and make them a reality. I just pushed for materials and sat up in the palace."

"You helped when you could." Fiona remanded him with a soft, reproachful tone and sat with Shianni next to her. "If things were different, I'm certain you would have been down in the Alienage getting your hands dirty every day."

Shianni chuckled while putting out clay cups. "He was here practically every day in the beginning. Making sure things went smoothly." She poured water from the kettle into the mugs already filled with tea leaves. "He made sure that the builders and guards were doing their jobs and not taking advantage or being lazy thinking we're just elves."

"You're not 'just' anything," Alistair replied turning his mug around in the palms of his hands and staring down at the contents. "You have never been 'just' anything."

"Really, Shianni deserves a lot of the praise too," Roselyn added meeting the redhead's eyes from across the table. Shianni quirked a brow. "You were the one who spoke up originally. The one who infiltrated the palace and who made your plight known. Without you, none of this would have happened."

"Well..." Shianni's cheeks darkened.

"Shianni and Alistair." Fiona lifted her mug in a toast. Teagan and Roselyn both copied echoing her words. Shianni and Alistair glanced at each other, clearly feeling awkward, and drank deep from their cups.

The tea was unlike any tea Roselyn had tried before. It was sharp, tangy, and had a tart edge to it. It went down her throat like a overcooked broth but had a pleasant aftertaste which lingered on her tongue. It warmed her from pit of the stomach and through her limbs to her extremities, making her grow warmer in the already cosy house. Conversation flowed, mostly between Alistair, Fiona, and Shianni. Roselyn saw how easily he spoke with them. How at ease he was with them, discussing not just the Alienage, but also life in Denerim and the difficulties at the palace. He showed himself to be a chameleon, able to blend in to his surroundings. If he left the palace and the title of Prince behind he would fit in easily in a small village or a farm and no one would be the wiser. He knew the court life and the palace intrigues yet managed it perfectly well. His behaviour was impeccable and he could traverse the pit falls and intricacies of it all with ease.

She found herself wondering if the only place he was able to be himself was in the privacy of their rooms. There was a certain hardness to him when they were in public or in the palace. Nothing harsh or brutish, but he always stood straighter and set his shoulders and jaw as if readying himself for battle. Even here in the Alienage he put on a mask. He chose his words with more care, he slouched to make himself seem smaller and less imposing. He laughed more easily too, though at times it sounded forced rather than genuine. Still, he was more comfortable around Shianni and in the Alienage than he ever seemed to be at the palace.

Maybe they were making the wrong choice? Maybe Alistair should not become King. He could do plenty in a position of power, but at what cost to his own mental and emotional wellbeing? Putting on a front day in and day out would wear on anyone, and the palace was full of Maric's friends and the sycophants who followed him. They would not give Alistair an easy ride if he took the throne. They would want him to be another Maric.

Roselyn's thoughts were broken by an unexpected sickly coldness sweeping through her body. She blanched and knocked her empty mug to the floor in her rapid effort to grab the edge of the table. She grit her teeth, her stomach clenching while she could almost feel her blood rushing from her face to her feet. Her hands loosened on the edge of the table, suddenly too weak to cling on and was falling.

Someone grabbed her before she hit the floor, their weight supporting her in her seat and keeping her steady. Gradually the room came into focus. Worried faces peering at her from across the table. She felt skin on her face, cooler than her own.

"She's burning up." The voice she recognised at Fiona's. The person holding her was Alistair, she could tell by the familiar earthy smell of him that lingered in his clothing. "My Lady?" Fiona gently tapped Roselyn's cheeks, left and then right until Roselyn managed to focus her gaze on her pale eyes.

"Rose?" Alistair sounded worried. As Roselyn tilted her head back, feeling gradually returning to her limbs, she could see him trying to school the concern in his expression and failing miserably at it. She offered what she hoped was a smile in an attempt to reassure him.

"It's warm in here," she explained after a few moments.

Shianni passed Fiona a damp cloth, which Fiona then laid over Roselyn's head. It was cool, almost heavenly on Roselyn's burning skin.

"Are you alright, My Lady?" Fiona asked, stepping into the role of a skilled and experienced healer. A glow emanated from the palms of her hands, soft, green, and comforting. As she wafted the magic over Roselyn's face, she felt the heat begin to drain from her skin.

"I'm fine," Roselyn breathed deep. "I think it's just the warmth. And my clothes are very thick. The tea maybe just pushed my body temperature too high." She squeezed Alistair's hand where it lay on her shoulder. "I am sorry to cause such a fuss."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Alistair removed the cloth from her forehead and his lips grazed her skin.

"Have you had any sickness recently, my Lady?"

"No. Nothing," Roselyn shook her head, ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. "Please, don't fuss. I'm fine."

"You said you were feeling sick the other day," Alistair mentioned, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "Maybe you have the start of a cold? It's the time of year for it."

Chuckling softly, she nodded her head, "Perhaps." She humoured him, wanting the attention off her. "Nothing serious. I'll just try and sweat it out before it takes."

"There might be something in the clinic to help start warding it off," Shianni spoke up from the corner of the room. "We could look, if you want?"

"An excellent idea," Fiona spoke up before Roselyn could protest. "It will also give Their Highnesses a chance to see the clinic now that it is complete." She looked to Alistair whose gaze was still focused on Roselyn. "I do not think you have seen it?"

"Hm?" He looked at her, eyes blind as if falling into the room. "Oh. Uh... no. No, I haven't."

Shianni almost heaved herself off the wall. "Come on then!" She led the way down the hall followed by Teagan and Fiona.

Alistair gripped Roselyn's hand hard and helped her to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, catching herself on the table. For a few seconds she felt as though she was about to be sick. She swallowed hard and took a long breath through her mouth before righting herself and standing straight. When she looked at Alistair, waiting for him to move, his expression caused her to stop in her tracks. He looked like a spurned puppy. Brows furrowed, eyes down and his mouth drawn straight while he chewed at his lip. She lifted one hand to cup his face.

"I'm fine," she told him, rising onto her tip toes and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "See?"

"Are you sure?" he pressed. He clasped her hand at his cheek in his and leaned into her palm. "We can go back home, if you're not feeling right."

"No," Roselyn's voice grew firm. "We're here to see the Alienage and look over all the work that has been done. We're not leaving early."

"But if you're unwell..."

"I am not unwell," she sighed, trying to keep the frustration from her tone. "It's stuffy in here. We came in from the very cold. We're wearing a lot of layers, and Shianni's tea was very hot. I just overheated, that's all." She watched him weigh up her words and struggling to calm his worries.

"It's..." Alistair started and then stopped. He closed his eyes and growled to himself before huffing a breath. "It's just... Anora... she fainted." He looked at her, brown eyes soft but questioning. "At the fete. Remember?"

"I remember. I was there."

"Right..." When he swallowed the Adam's apple in his throat bobbed. "And... and now she's... well, you know. She's pregnant."

Roselyn slowly lifted an eyebrow, "Alistair. Are you trying to ask me if I'm pregnant?"

"No-- Yes-- Uhm... maybe?" He scratched the back of his head and lifted his eyes towards the ceiling. The very low ceiling. He was already hunching to fit in the house. When he tilted his head back Roselyn was certain the end of his nose brushed the ceiling. With a sigh mingled with a growl, Alistair puffed his cheeks out. "Are you?" he asked, turning his gaze down to her. "I mean, could you be?"

"No," Roselyn replied. There was a flicker of disappointment in his face. There one moment, gone the next. If Roselyn had blinked, she would have missed it. Seeing it made her stomach stink. "I mean, I don't think so."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry..."

"No. No," Alistair grasped her hands in his and brought them to his lips to kiss. "No. Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. It... It will happen when it happens."

"Why so eager all of a sudden?"

He chuckled weakly, shoulders sagging and his expression growing forlorn, "I thought it might be nice... you know?" He forced a small, sad smile. "A bit of good news. For us. For Ferelden. With... with everything that's happened recently and is still going on..."

"Alistair," Roselyn wriggled her hands free to cup his face. She stroked her thumbs across his cheekbones, leaning up to kiss him. "When - not if - _when_ I do become pregnant, you'll be the first person I tell." She pressed another soft kiss to his lips which he returned, his hands coming to encircle her waist and hold her steady. "And it _will_ happen."

"How can you be so sure? Cailan and Anora were--"

She put a finger to his lips and smiled, "Just... trust me."

After a few more gentle kisses and murmurs of reassurance, Alistair took her hand and led the way out of Shianni's house into the cold Alienage once more. The snow was falling thicker and faster, with fat flakes which melted in hair and on clothing where they landed. Shianni was waiting with Teagan and Fiona just outside the front door. Teagan nodded politely when Roselyn and Alistair joined them. Fiona glanced between them, meeting Roselyn's eyes with a coy smile.  Shianni jerked her thumb towards one of the larger buildings indicating that as their next destination.

The clinic was built on the remains of the orphanage which burned down several years before. A new orphanage was built further into the Alienage in a more suitable location near the vhenadahl. The clinic was constructed over two floors. On the bottom floor there were eleven healers seeing to minor ailments such as a sprained wrist, a cold or chesty cough, or a nasty cut. They administered different herbs and tonics from vials of all shapes and sizes. The bottom floor consisted mostly of chairs, with three beds tucked away at one end, concealed by curtains for privacy for patients with more serious needs.

Patients in need of prolonged care were kept upstairs. There were six beds lined along the north and south facing walls, making twelve in total. Of the twelve, four were occupied allowing the patients to receive dedicated care from the healers.

According to Shianni there were also surgeons who performed operations when necessary, though most of their time was spent setting broken bones, stitching cuts, or tending to other mundane injuries. Alistair and Roselyn walked through the clinic with Fiona as their guide and Shianni chiming in when she had something to say.

To say Roselyn was impressed was an understatement. The clinic was an incredible accomplishment. Fiona had done wonders with teaching the healers all they needed to know of using herbs and basic medicine. The healers were professional, soft spoken, and gracious when Alistair or Fiona stopped to speak to them while they went about their duties. There was a mixture of men and women, and from what Roselyn could see those being tended to were treated with the utmost respect and tenderness.

"This is..." Alistair was lost for words, rocking back on his heels. "When I sanctioned the rebuilding of the Alienage, I could never have imagined this. This is a testament to the elves. It really is."

Shianni grinned, "We do like to take care of our own."

"And you do it well," Alistair crossed his arms. "Fiona, you've done wonders with teaching."

Fiona flushed. "Thank you, Your Highness." She dropped into a small bow. "Although, I am only responsible for showing and correcting when necessary. Many of the healers already possessed the basic skills. Having a suitable location to flourish is part of it."

Alistair smiled, grateful for her compliment. A young woman approached Shianni with a small container. She whispered something which made Shianni's pleased expression falter and grow trouble. She nodded and the healer went on her way.

"Here," Shianni handed the box to Roselyn. "Herbs to chew on to help fight off your cold."

"Thank you," Roselyn took the box. "Something the matter?"

"Oh, that..." Biting her lip Shianni glanced at Fiona furtively. The two women stared at each other for a few moments, as if having a silent conversation. Eventually Shianni growled. She dug her fingers into her hair and tightened one of the many ponytails. "I haven't been entirely honest with you," she spoke to Alistair.

"How so?" He stood to his full height.

"Don't get me wrong. Things in the Alienage are miles better than they ever were before. And honestly, I don't know if this is something to be worried about or me being paranoid." She gave a small huff, shifting her weight. "I didn't want to say anything to you. Given what's been happening and--"

"Shianni?" Alistair cut her off with a kind smile which seemed to catch her off guard. "What is it?"

Roselyn saw the tips of Shianni's ears grow pink. She blew air out from between her lips, creating a trumpeting sound. "Elves have been going missing," she said, meeting Alistair's gaze. Roselyn felt him stiffen beside her. "At first I thought it was just a random thing, my mind playing tricks. But I'm sure now. "

"When did this start?" asked Alistair, his face and tone severe.

"I don't know exactly," she shrugged. "The first missing person I heard about was old Vinecia. That was... maybe the beginning of Firstfall. I didn't think anything of it. Vinecia has disappeared before. Turned up a few weeks later. But she hasn't turned up again."

"Anyone else?"

"At my count about eight people, maybe nine, since Vinecia." Shianni rest cross her arms over her chest. "I don't know much, only that it happens at night. And that the people who disappear are people who no one would really miss, you know?" She pursed her lips and glanced at Fiona, as if seeking support. "Like Vinecia had no family in the Alienage. And Magda came here only a few months back, hadn't really settled in. Lucan was Antivan and from the Dalish originally, so a lot of us gave him a wide berth. Or he gave us a wide berth." After a pause, she sighed. "I didn't want to bother you with it. You've been good to us, and with your sister-in-law trying to steal the crown I thought you had enough to deal with."

"This is important though," Alistair explained. "I appreciate you caring about my well being, but people going missing is worrisome." He took a moment to think. "There's not a lot I can do at the moment and without more information. I'll allocate more guards. Hopefully they will act as a deterrent but you'll have to be my eyes and ears until there's more to go on."

"Of course," Shianni nodded. "More guards might just do the trick!"

When they left the clinic, they were met with a very different atmosphere in the Alienage to the one they had left. The streets had emptied, instead faces and heads peeked out of windows down at their group. The air felt different. It felt like it was pulsing, as if it was alive and awake.

In the middle of the Alienage was a messenger in palace livery and on horseback. Teagan was speaking to them, words inaudible to those around. The horse pawed at the ground anxiously, chomping at the bit and huffing, its breaths turning to clouds of white. When Roselyn saw Teagan glance over at her, her skin prickled under her clothing. Alistair dropped her hand and approached his uncle and the messenger in a few strides.

Watching him carefully, Roselyn saw alarm flare up in his face. Anger, fear. His cheeks grew redder and he ran his hands back through his hair over and over again. A gesture he only did when he was upset. He looked back at her, eyes barely meeting hers before he returned his attention to Teagan. They both nodded. The messenger turned the horse and was gone from the gates of the Alienage in a clattering of hooves.

"What was that about?" Roselyn asked when Alistair rejoined her.

"We have to leave. Now," Alistair said briskly. "I'm sorry, Shianni. But--"

"What's happened?" she asked. "Anything I can do?"

"No. No. Sorry. I... we..." He breathed hard and grabbed Roselyn's hand. "We need to leave."

Roselyn stared at him, her eyes going between his face and Teagan's just beyond. The two of them looked stricken and they both avoided her gaze. Teagan's skin was almost grey. Her stomach curled on itself making her feel sick. Something was wrong. At the palace? Maybe Anora was unwell? Or she had delivered the baby early? Alistair starting walking, marching through the snow almost dragging Roselyn behind him.

"What's going on?" Roselyn demanded, struggling to keep up with Alistair's long strides. "Alistair?" She glanced behind her to see Teagan following them his head bowed low. "What's happened?" Neither of them answered her. They were nearing the gates. She could see the guards and their horses ready for them. "What is happening?!"

Alistair came to an abrupt stop and Roselyn crashed into his back. When he turned, he dropped her hand to hold her face in his palms. His expression was still, unreadable. It did nothing to quell Roselyn's growing unease.

"It..." He tutted. "There's..."

She watched him struggle, searching for his words and trying to put them in order. Whatever news the messenger delivered had shaken him. She leaned into the palm of his hand, trying to fight her own fear and calm his. She stroked her thumb across his cheek. "What is it? It can't be that bad."

He gave a short bark of laughter closing his eyes, "Maker, Rose..."

"Just tell me," she coaxed, her voice as soft and still as she could make it. "Is there a kingdom wide cheese shortage or something?"

"It's Highever," Alistair told her, his voice betraying no emotion but dropping to be softer. Roselyn froze, her throat closing over. "There's been..." She watched him glance up over her head, clearly looking to Teagan for support. He dropped his mouth beside her ear and a shudder ran down her spine. Not one of pleasure or enjoyment at having him so close, but of dread. She heard his voice and the words his lips formed as loud in her ears as though he was screaming them.

"It's gone. The castle. Everything. Burned to the ground."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Sorry if updates are a bit sporadic. Hopefully I'll be able to get more chapters uploaded sooner, once the last few are finished being beta read!  
> As always, let me know what you think! And I will see you in the concluding part to this chapter soon!
> 
> Lovely chapter art done by sangosweetz! :D Thank you again! <333


	23. Chapter 14: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Roselyn return to Denerim palace following news of an attack on Highever, Roselyn's childhood home. Details and information are lacking but Roselyn has her own ideas over who is responsible. As a confrontation breaks out, Loghain tries to use the chaos to his and Anora's advantage with dire consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: Teen
> 
> As always, love to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr).

Alistair’s mind was racing and he rode back to the palace.

What had happened to Highever? Was it a random attack? A political one? Were Roselyn’s family alive and safe? The message had arrived by raven a few hours after he and Roselyn left to visit the Alienage. So far, the information was kept strictly confidential. Including himself, Roselyn and Teagan, only two other people knew of the events which had unfolded: the raven master who received the message and the messenger who delivered the news.

Not even the guards were aware as they rode a rapid pace through the cobble streets. Alistair wanted to retain a sense of calm - he did not want to spread panic through his soldiers or through the streets. At the same time, he wanted to gallop to the palace and find out what was going on.

Roselyn rode beside him, silent and completely still. Her face was pale, eyes fixed on her hands around the reins of her horse. He wanted to say something to comfort her. To reassure her that her family was likely safe and that maybe the message was wrong. But he could not bring himself to do so. He could not bring himself to lie. After all, he did not know if her family really was safe or if the message was a mistake.

Every so often he glanced back to Teagan who looked as fraught and uneasy as Alistair felt.

Who would attack Highever? Who would attack the Cousland family? And why?

They were well-loved throughout Ferelden. They were one of the most ancient families in the whole Kingdom, even pre-dating his own family line. Bryce was kind to his people, a staunch friend and ally to those who could call him that. He kept good trade and commerce coming through the land, his men often patrolling the King’s Road and warding off raiders or bandits.

It made no sense! Bryce Cousland and his family never did anything to anyone. They were harmless. His people were innocent of any wrong doing. Why should they be attacked and made to suffer like this?

As the palace came into view the worry Alistair felt only increased fear gnawing away at him and chipping away at his bones. He felt sick to his stomach; the tea he drank at Shianni’s house threatened to reappear and he forced himself to swallow it down. He had no idea how Roselyn must have been feeling. Every time he looked at her, her expression was like a still piece of glass. He could not read her and she did not look at him.

Grooms greeted them outside the entrance to the palace. The raven master stood on the top step near the doorway waiting them. Alistair almost vaulted down from his horse as the groom took the reins. He quickly helped Roselyn down from her saddle and approached the raven master, narrowly avoiding tripping up the steps. The guards rode around the building towards the stables with the grooms. Once they were out of sight and it was only himself, Teagan, Roselyn, and the raven master huddled together did Alistair consider it safe to speak.

"So?" he demanded.

"Your Highness." The raven master handed him a length of yellowing paper about six inches long. The writing on it was tiny, barely legible where the writer must have been shaking. "I’m so sorry, Princess." The raven master bowed to Roselyn and backed up a small step to give them some vague illusion of privacy.

"What does it say, Alistair?" asked Teagan, stepping close to his side.

Alistair squinted, struggling to read the words and struggling to believe them as he deciphered the scribbled hand. The sentences were short. Disjointed. Written in a panic and a rush. Alistair gulped down bile as he read and re-read the scrawl.

_Night attack. Came from the east. No banner. Not bandits too well armed. Organised. Knew the weak points. Teyrn cut down. Fires are set. Massacre. Send help._

He stared at the words and then glanced across at Roselyn who was waiting for him to speak, watching him with wide, fearful eyes while she tried to contain her panic. His fingers shook on the worn scrap of paper and his voice caught in his throat when he tried to speak and tell her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

"Rose..." He handed her the message and watched her read it.

"This... This was written by Aldous. He was my tutor and Fergus’," she mumbled. Alistair watched her eyes follow the words from one end to the other and then back. Her mouth fell open and the scrap fell from her fingers to the snow. "W... what does..." She shook her head and began backing away as if afraid. "No. **_NO_**. It’s a lie."

"Rose," Alistair stepped forward and she retreated, shaking her head more furiously.

"It’s got to be a lie!" she shouted, her face scrunching as she tried to hold herself together. "Wh-what does he mean, ‘Teyrn cut down’?! An-and no survivors? What does that mean?!"

Alistair reached out a hand towards her. "It’s alright, we—"

"It’s ** _NOT_** alright!" she screamed. "It’s not. It’s not! This is a trick. It’s not true! It _cannot_ be true!"

"Lady Roselyn, please," Teagan clutched the note in his hand. Guards were looking at them from their posts at the gates, Roselyn’s screams pulling their attention from their duties. "If we go inside we can—"

Alistair almost toppled back as Roselyn shoved past him, marching through the doors into the palace. He followed, struggling to keep up with her brisk gait. She was stalking towards the main hall where all the courtiers and petitioners and council would be. The guards opened the doors just as Alistair realised what she intended to do. He reached out to grab her but she snatched her hand away with a snarl and disappeared into the throng of people who milled and moved around her.

From his vantage point on the steps leading into the hall Alistair could see Loghain and Anora near the top of the room where the throne was located on the dais. The two of them stood together, talking with someone Alistair did not take the time to examine. The way the people in the room moved and swayed, Roselyn was making a beeline for them and in her wake conversation dropped to silence and the air crackled as if everyone could sense the impending explosion about to occur.

**_"ANORA!"_** Roselyn’s shout carried over the whole room, right up to the rafters and the buttresses holding the ceiling up. The quiet was deafening and everyone stopped moving.

Alistair waded into the sea people. He had grown used to them parting to let him pass. He found edging around them and trying to politely move them to one side to get through time consuming. When some people refused to move he resorted to more basic methods, shoving and using his elbows.

"It is not enough that you want the crown, but you want to destroy me too?!" Roselyn screamed.

Alistair reached his wife just in time to see the colour drain from Anora’s shocked face. Loghain stood protectively at his daughter’s side, staring down his long nose at Roselyn, a sneer of distaste curling his lips.

"What did I ever do to you?! What did my _family_ ever do to you?!" Roselyn’s cheeks were dark and flushed, her eyes watering with her anger. "My nephew?! My _niece?!_ She was a baby! They were innocent!"

"I... I don’t..." Anora placed her hands over her belly and glanced back at Loghain for clarification. "I don’t understand..." She spoke softly, glancing around and clearly feeling awkward under the eyes of the courtiers all openly staring and watching. "What’s happened?"

"Don’t pretend! Don't lie to my face!" Roselyn all but spat at her. "What did my family _ever_ do to deserve being massacred in their own home?!"

A collective gasp arose from the crowd around them. Roselyn took a step closer to Anora. Alistair wrapped a hand around her upper arm, ready to grab her if she lunged. Given that Roselyn was behaving like a wild animal, he was not willing to put anything past her.

"Your..." Anora shook her head. "Your family? I didn’t... I don’t..."

"You need better control of your wife, Alistair," Loghain snorted, coming to Anora’s defence. Alistair controlled his expression despite his own confusion and upset. The way Loghain addressed him, addressed them both, always bothered him, but now he looked almost triumphant, as if he was enjoying Roselyn’s show of emotion. "Her outburst is unbecoming of a potential Queen. And while this massacre of Highever is a tragic event and an accident, I've no doubt, that she has come in here without reason to accuse my daughter is belligerent. Has she proof of Anora’s involvement?"

"My family support Alistair’s claim," Roselyn explained bitingly, her lips curling back into a snarl. "One of the most established families in Ferelden supporting him and not you? Turning on-the-fence supporters towards his cause? You’re so desperate to be on the throne and be your father’s puppet that taking away a supporter by murdering them in cold blood is all you could think of?"

"I swear, I had _nothing_ to do with this!" Anora protested. "Roselyn, I would _never_ authorise or condone something like that." She moved close, reaching out a hand. "You have to believe me."

Roselyn recoiled out of Anora’s reach and bumped straight into Alistair's chest. He could feel her trembling from head to foot. Her cheeks were stained with tear tracks, eyes already puffy and bloodshot. He drew her towards him, into his arms, cradling her face away from the unrepentant eyes of the court watching the intrigue unfold.

He did not want to admit it, but Roselyn had a point in her anger.

The Cousland support meant more to Alistair’s claim to the throne than the support of most other families. They held a lot of sway and influence over other Banns and Arls throughout Ferelden due to their connections and long lineage. And Bryce had been active and very public in discussing the issues of succession with his allies and friends. He had already turned uncertain minds towards supporting Alistair, strengthening his claim with their backing.

But Anora? No, this wasn’t Anora’s doing and Anora was not the one Roselyn should have attacked. He knew from the surprise on her face, and the way she tried to reach out to Roselyn that this was as much shocking news to her as it was to Roselyn. But Roselyn was unlikely to listen or see reason in her current state and telling her to redirect her anger would be pointless.

Roselyn’s anger should have been on Loghain. Or one of his allies working under his orders, or on their own, thinking it would win them favour. This was underhanded, it was malicious, and it was insidious and desperate. It was not Loghain’s normal tactic – once believed to be a man of fine morals and noble blood despite his low birth. This was the tactic of a man on the losing side and trying to gain ground any way he could.

And Roselyn was playing right into it.

"You see how immature and unprepared this woman is?" Loghain crowed, projecting his voice to be heard by even the people at the furthest edge of the hall. "This..." he sneered at Roselyn’s back and Alistair held her tighter in an effort to protect her. His face hardened, and his jaw clenched, teeth gritting painfully together. He had never wanted to harm someone quite as much as he wanted to harm Loghain at that moment in time. "This stupid little girl, and her mad ravings? This is the woman you would see on the throne beside her equally foolish and weak husband? The two of them so unprepared and innocent of the ways of the world!"

"Father, please," Anora protested, but Loghain was in the middle of a speech. A well prepared speech. He did not pick his words as he said them. This was rehearsed. He knew this would happen or planned and hoped it would; that he would have an audience when Roselyn found out about Highever.

"Unprepared and innocent in more ways than one, as I understand it."

The tone of Loghain’s voice dropped becoming silky and smooth. It reminded Alistair of a snake about to strike and filled him with dread. Loghain’s eyes turned on him and Roselyn, they rest on her back for a moment, and then met his. Dark, cold, like steel and onyx.

"Father, don’t." Anora said, placing a hand on Loghain's arm.

"Perhaps it would be of interest to these dignified people here assembled that the Princess Roselyn did not allow her husband to enjoy his matrimonial right on their wedding night." Alistair’s eyes widened and Roselyn went stiff against him. "That she denied him his rights and enjoyment as her husband for months after their wedding."

Alistair’s arms went lax. He was numb and cold, shame sneaking up his spine like ice, though there was nothing to be ashamed of. He and Roselyn agreed to wait, and they had. And now they were most definitely making up for lost time. There was nothing shameful in two people in an arranged match waiting until they were happy, comfortable, and ready.

What shamed him was the way their privacy was being aired so openly and with such venom. To have their choice, their affection, and relationship turned and used against them. And how Loghain called it a matrimonial right. It was not any man’s right to sleep with his wife if she wasn’t willing or ready. Loghain’s way of thinking was archaic, but his words were having an effect on the crowd. There were murmurs rising up. Soft whispers and as Alistair glanced around he could see eyes looking him and Roselyn up and down in a way which made his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn.

"How weak must a man be, not to assert his right as a husband? And how shrewish must a woman be to deny him his pleasures?"

"You..." Roselyn snarling brought Alistair from his shocked stupor. She was tense, her whole body a tightly wound spring ready to snap. She moved towards Anora, purposeful steps. "You..." Roselyn’s chest heaved. Her nostril’s flared, her teeth grit together. Alistair saw her arm raise, hand out, palm flat and watched it fly at Anora before he could react or stop her. Anora recoiled, cowering away from the incoming blow.

There was an almighty _smack,_ the sound of skin striking skin which echoed through the hall, and a cry of pain. But it was not Anora’s voice.

Roselyn hit the floor in a heap, clasping a hand to her right cheek as it started turning scarlet.

"Roselyn!" Anora got as close to her and the floor as her swollen belly would allow. Loghain shook out his right hand and mopped a smear of blood out of his palm. "Sweet Andraste, you’re bleeding." Alistair watched in stunned silence as Anora pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to Roselyn’s lip.

Outrage sparked in his belly, igniting a sudden flare of fury. Without thinking he launched himself at Loghain, his fist connecting with the other man’s jaw causing him to released a surprised and pain- filled yelp. Loghain staggered back from Alistair’s punch. Around the edges of the hall guards began to move and usher onlookers aside in an effort to put a stop to any further violence.

Anger like none he'd ever felt pulsed around Alistair's body and throbbed behind his eyes. He wanted to keep hitting Loghain for daring to lay a hand on his wife. He wanted to punch him until his face was mottled and bruised and bloody. Until no facial features could be recognised under Alistair's assault. But that would achieve nothing, and Roselyn was more important than his anger.

He dropped to the floor and took the handkerchief from Anora where she held it to Roselyn’s lip. The cut was small and bled into the grooves and creases of Roselyn’s lips. She must have bitten down when Loghain hit her. Her cheek was still bright red, and a bruise was starting to form over her cheek. Roselyn sniffled, unwilling to lift her eyes or meet Alistair’s gaze. He brushed his lips over her forehead, gently murmuring to her, and trying to breathe through the angry haze pumping around his body.

The silence of the hall was uncomfortable. What support Loghain was winning was now lost after striking Roselyn with such gusto and without remorse. Even if his strike had come in defence of his own daughter, he could have just held Roselyn back or blocked the space between Roselyn and Anora. There was no reason for him to attack her himself. And to send her to the floor and make her bleed? The room was turning on Loghain, and he seemed to be the only one not to notice.

"These two are not fit to sit on the throne of Ferelden. This bastard and this foolish orphan bitch who dares try to attack the rightful Queen – a pregnant woman – would ruin Ferelden. If the people support them and put them on the throne, Ferelden will fall within a year. A shrewish, childish banshee of a girl and a weak-willed man would destroy this Kingdom. They would sell us to Orlais, or allow Orlais to invade. To occupy us once more. To steal from our fields, to attack our villages. To—"

"Is this all it comes down to in the end?" Alistair demanded. He did not get up, only looked at Loghain from the ground where he refused to leave his wife. "Your paranoid delusion that Orlais wants to have Ferelden back under its belt?"

"It is not paranoia. No delusion!" spat Loghain. "Maric and I both saw what the Orlesian occupation was like. You—"

"Maric was planning on having Cailan divorce Anora and marry Celene," Alistair barked. "Did you know that? Did he tell you? Does that seem like the action of a man afraid of Orlais?"

Loghain’s face darkened to almost purple. "I _was_ made aware of his plans, eventually," he hissed. "And I would have convinced Maric it was a poor idea on his return from Orlais."

"In your opinion."

"In _everyone’s_ opinion!"

"Orlais is not the same place you remember, Loghain," Alistair said, his voice resonating and growing louder to be heard. "The place you remember exists only in your mind. It was never as bad as you paint it to be. You have twisted what you remember into a mutation of the truth. And you have convinced yourself that _is_ the truth."

"I—"

"You lash out," Alistair interrupted, unwilling to back down. "You lash out at anyone and anything with even a slight inkling of support for our neighbour. Just because _you_ refuse to change with the times and grow. You are stuck in the glory days of you and Maric, chasing Orlesians across the border. Those days are over twenty years dead."

"You have no idea what your father and I did to make this land secure!" Loghain bristled. "If it weren’t for me, Ferelden would still be under Orlesian rule and the Ferelden people would be under subjugation. Indentured servants to a fickle mistress."

"A possibility which ended with the war and occupation." With a heavy sigh, Alistair shook his head and ruffled a hand through his hair. "There’s no point arguing with you. You will see Orlesian shadows around every corner until your dying day. And I have more important things to deal with than your resentment and the ravings of a man clearly mad."

"Careful, Your Highness. You speak to the father of the future Queen of Ferelden."

Alistair slid one arm under Roselyn’s knees and the other around her back, scooping her up off the floor and getting to his feet. He looked Loghain up and down for a moment, matching the distaste on Loghain’s face with distain in his. "Understand one thing, if you understand nothing else," he spoke low, a growl and a warning. "If I find out you are responsible for what has happened at Highever, that you are the reason my wife's childhood home is in ashes, I will remove your head from your shoulders, personally."

Loghain sneered. "An empty threat."

"We’ll see."

"Perhaps I will remove your head!" Loghain shouted after Alistair, though he was already moving through the congregated people who parted to let him through. He did not furnish Loghain with a reply, letting him stew and seethe and grow angrier with that instead.

He carried Roselyn up to their chambers and Anora followed at a small distance.

Once in the privacy of their bed chamber, he eased Roselyn down onto the covers of their bed and went about getting a basin of water to clean the cut on her lip. Anora hovered in the doorway, her face pale and wringing her fingers, fighting with herself whether to speak and stay, or remain silent and leave.

"How did he know?" Roselyn asked softly, wincing when Alistair gently turned her face so he could look at the bruise forming on her cheek.

Anora started. "How did..."

"How did your father know that Alistair and I didn’t sleep together on our wedding night?" Roselyn enunciated every word, snapping them with carefully contained anger. Alistair remained silent, knowing this was a discussion for the two of them and that he should not get involved. He dabbed at the cut on Roselyn’s lip, clearing away the dried blood.

"I..." Anora started. Stopped. Opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her cheeks darkened and she stared at the floor unable to conceal her shame.

She was a different woman, looking at her now. Alistair was so used to seeing her cool, calm, and in control of her emotions and her face. Now she was uneasy, her eyes watering, and she bit the corner of her bottom lip. Her hair had become awry in the fray before, loose tendrils falling from the neat twin buns she favoured and littering her forehead. He didn’t see his sister-in-law anymore. Nor did he see Anora, the woman who carried his brother’s child and was his rival for the throne. He saw someone lost, confused. Someone who was in over her head and surrounded by people who she did not think she could trust. Or whose trust she had lost.

"I might have mentioned it," she said finally. "In passing."

"That’s an interesting topic of conversation to have with your father," Roselyn remarked with a wry smile. "Hello, father. Did you know Alistair and Roselyn haven’t had sex yet? Just thought you’d like to know! Life at the palace remains dull. Cailan is still odious. Love Anora." Roselyn turned her grey eyes on Anora. "A fascinating and riveting read to be sure."

"It wasn’t like that," Anora protested. "I would never have mentioned it to my father. It would never have come up in conversation."

"Then how. Did. He. Know?"

"The only person who I might have mentioned it to is Erlina."

"Your head lady-in-waiting?"

"Yes," Anora crossed the room. "B-But she’s trustworthy. She’s been with me for years. She would never gossip or betray me to anyone."

"But she’s not betraying you, is she?" Roselyn’s stared dead ahead, eyes on Alistair’s face. He was finished with her lip and the bruise on her cheek would form and fade. There was no other damage. He kissed her forehead as he got to his feet and took the basin from the night stand to dispose of the water.

"I... she..." Anora struggled. "I never thought it would come up," she said in a small voice. "I never intended to hurt you."

"Just go away, Anora." Roselyn waved a dismissive hand, her gaze on the floor.

"Ros-"

"I said, go away."

Alistair held the door open for her and waited until Anora was on the other side of the threshold. She looked at him as they passed each other, blue eyes glassy and blood shot as if she too had been crying. He was torn between wanting to offer her comfort to or to ignore her. He wound up half-smiling and bowing to her awkwardly. At the very least they could observe some politeness.

"For what it’s worth..." Anora spoke before leaving entirely. She looked back at Roselyn who only glanced at her. "I am sorry. About your family. If I can help..."

"You’ve done enough damage."

Anora gave a resigned nod, "I suppose I have."

Alistair closed the door behind her and heaved a sigh, running his hands back through his hair. He quickly kicked his boots off and stripped out of his heavy velvet surcoat and jerkin until he was in his breeches and loose tunic. He approached Roselyn, kneeled before her and lifted her legs one at a time to remove her shoes. After that, he helped her to her feet with soft, gentle coaxing and unbuttoned the fastens of her cape. He draped that over the arm of a chair; and after loosening the laces of Roselyn’s bodice so it was less constricting, he called Roo in from the other room.

Roselyn slumped down on their bed and lay back on her side, rolling over away from him. Roo clambered onto the bed and nuzzled close to her mistress as if sensing her anguish. The mabari was likely better comfort than he could be anyway. Roselyn was blocking him out, and he didn’t blame her as the news still settled over them both. If everything they were told was true, that Highever was burnt and her family was dead, then it stood to reason only Loghain or Anora could be behind it. And Anora was not the sort to advocate for mass murder or the deaths of innocent people.

The deed was not something Loghain would have done himself. Aldous' note had specified the attackers held no banner. Mercenaries, perhaps? Or one of Loghain’s allies acting on his behalf, but in disguise? They needed to go to Highever to see for themselves.

He hoped in the chaos that some of the attackers were killed or burned. Perhaps their remains could be examined. Perhaps one of them would hold a clue indicating the guilty party. Perhaps the note was wrong and Bryce Cousland was not cut down. Perhaps Roselyn’s family were forewarned of the attack and escaped to safety.

There were a lot of ‘perhaps’ and ‘what if’ scenarios to go through. All of them blind hope, and none of them more deluded than the hope that Roselyn’s family survived.

Alistair knew in his gut that Roselyn was now the last remaining member of the Cousland line. It was a terrible pit in his stomach, a sinking feeling which made his legs feel like lead. But it was a truth, a certainty. Her family home was attacked. Her family gone. He was all she had, and that was a terrifying though in itself.

He heard her sniffle from the bed and a weak whimper she failed to suppress. She had her arms wrapped around her body, and had curled up making herself as small as possible. Alistair ushered Roo to one side when he climbed onto the bed and eased closer to her. He stroked one hand down her side from her shoulder to her waist and back up, a steady rhythm meant to soothe. Nuzzling closer, he brushed his mouth over her forehead, hushing her softly. He stretched his free arm under her pillows, winding his fingers back through her hair. Roselyn inched closer. Alistair watched her squeeze tears from her eyes, watched them drip over her skin and her nose and soak into the covers.

Her whimpers turned to sobs which ripped from deep in her chest. Her body shook. Her voice quavered and Alistair lay with her through it all, until shock and exhaustion took her into a fitful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the concluding part to the chapter. Let me know what you think, as always, and I will have the next chapter up for you soon. <33  
> Thanks for reading!


	24. Chapter 15: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving news of an attack on Highever, Alistair and Roselyn venture forth from Denerim to see the extent of the damage. Things are worse than anyone could have anticipated and it seems that is not the end of Roselyn's woes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to razerathane(on tumblr) and bluvixen(on tumblr) for their beta reading skills and being really supportive throughout this whole fic writing endeavor!
> 
> Chapter rating: Teen

_Month: Mid-Haring_

_\--_

Despite leaving the day after the news of Highever, it took over a week and a half to reach even the borders of the Teyrnir. The weather turned, bringing in sharp winds from the sea and heavy sleet during Roselyn and Alistair's journey, making travel on the roads slow and dangerous. At night the temperatures dropped below freezing causing the snow and slush to turn to ice on the roads. It was a treacherous path for any traveller and the horses placed their hooves carefully so not to slip. The journey seemed more dangerous because of the eagerness both Alistair and Roselyn felt to reach her home.

They were accompanied by a small group of guards. Alistair left Teagan and Duncan in charge back at Denerim, requesting they send updates as often as possible. He and Roselyn trusted them to keep Loghain in check and to prevent him from causing a coup or a hostile takeover in their absence. Roselyn travelled mostly in a carriage, sometimes riding alongside Alistair and the guards when the weather improved enough. They pushed the horses as hard as possible, sometimes urging them on through the night until exhaustion caught up not just with the animals but with the guards and driver too.

When their group slept it was never for long. The tents pitched were thin and the ground cold, but stopping was necessary for everyone involved. They were lucky that they were able to rest in taverns and inns whenever they stopped near farms or villages. The closer they got to Highever, the more news and gossip they heard.

Roselyn did not sleep well the whole trip. Falling asleep was troublesome, and staying asleep more so. Whenever she closed her eyes she could see her home burning in her mind. She could smell blood and hear screams. If it wasn't the vision of Highever's destruction it was the faces of her family all swarming and descending upon her. Her mother's accusatory tone, demanding why Roselyn wasn't there to help them. The sound of Frances wailing and Oren squealing in the blackness that her mind conjured.

She often woke panting and drenched in sweat, or yelling with her arms flailing in a vain attempt to defend herself. More than once it was Alistair who woke her. He shook her gently from her nightmares with a face stricken with panic and worry. He nursed her through the worst of it, never asking questions or telling her to tell him what she dreamt. He tried that on the first few nights and Roselyn struggled to recount her dreams. He stopped after the third night and knew that Roselyn would speak if she could.

After two weeks on the road in the middle of a bright cold morning, their small group reached the bluff of a hill from which Highever castle was once visible. Roselyn could recall riding and always being able to see her home from every direction if she was high enough. The stone walls always beckoning her and reminding her she was safe. Now, as she gripped the reins of her horse over tight, she felt nothing but bile rising up her throat and her gut felt as though it was being twisted and stabbed.

She was not sure what she expected. She had conjured up so many things after what she was told and the gossip their company heard on their way. Some people said the damage was minimal. That the castle mostly survived and only a few sections needed rebuilding. Some farmers said they had taken in refugees from Highever who left because the fire was still smouldering and it filled the air with smoke and ash, making it hard to breathe and almost impossible to see. Two Templars from a Chantry told them Highever was levelled an that the unknown group who attacked used something akin to Qunari black powder to collapse the castle at its weakest points.

Roselyn wanted to believe the castle she grew up in was strong enough and sturdy enough to repel any assault. Be it from explosions, fire, flood water, or the Maker himself. She wanted to believe when they neared Highever she would see the castle and she would smell the lavender and the limestone quarries and it would all be some horrible rumour. Hearsay spread to get she and Alistair out of the palace. She hoped. She prayed and pleaded.

She realised how wrong she was to do so.

Her home was little more than pile of rubble on top of the foundations on which the castle once stood. Even from a distance she could see where the most damage was done and that the weakest structural points of the castle were targeted by the attackers. The waste chutes and tunnels which bled out into the moat were the choke points and were exposed. Whatever the attacking horde had used to bring down the walls, it was set and ignited there. An explosion of some magnitude would have brought down the walls. With the guards distracted and in a panic over that, they would have left the gate and bridge poorly defended. It would’ve allowed the main bulk of the raiders to swarm and infiltrate though the gate, cutting down anyone in their path.

The initial strike to destroy the structure would have taken hours to construct - Roselyn had no idea what would be needed to cause such damage - but once it all started the massacre would have been done in minutes. The people who destroyed her home and family had spared no one.

It was not just the castle that suffered. The village surrounding the castle was ransacked and exploited too. As Roselyn rode through streets in silence with Alistair and their guards, she could see dried blood smeared on the cobbles and the walls where people were struck down in their vain efforts to get away. Shutters and doors on buildings hung from hinges. Some buildings showed signs of fire damage, others were little more than remains and whatever was once inside just ash.

The whole thing was a horrific and harrowing sight. Roselyn wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to Denerim. She wanted to cry and scream and to pretend everything she was seeing was not real. But it was, and she could not turn away from her home or the people who once looked to her father for protection and support. Who were now without that protection and without that leadership.

One of the few buildings that remained mostly in tact was the tavern. Alistair informed the guards to get them rooms to stay in and to stable their horses somewhere and give them a well deserved rest. He went with Roselyn through the streets on foot, the two of them alone but for Roo who was quiet and subdued as if knowing the situation called for respect and not her usual boundless frivolity.

Together they approached the remains of the castle. Roselyn's steps were measured and each one felt as if it took a lifetime to take. Alistair grasped her hand, a steadfast grip which kept her grounded. A support she was more grateful for than she could articulate. He went at her speed waiting when she paused to compose herself and saying nothing, knowing nothing he said could make what they had to do better.

She would not cry. She told herself that. Since the day the news was delivered she had not shed another tear and she was resolved not to do so. Not in view of other people, not around Alistair. She would not allow her grief to weaken her or allow it to crumble what of her resolve yet remained. She was the last remaining member of the Cousland line and she would not see their memory reduced to that of a simpering child.

They walked through what remained of the old bailey using a crudely constructed bridge over the moat. A handful of guards who survived the assault and some who came from neighbouring estates and lands patrolled what remained of the inner bailey. Chantry sisters wrapped bodies pulled from the rubble in linen sheets as a mark of respect, giving them their last rites and readying them for the pyre. Roselyn watched them for several minutes as they worked carefully, removing outer garments and pieces of jewellery which might help identify them to families. Further off there were piles of shields and weapons; their owners no longer having use for them. Several funeral pyres were erected in the distance, flames licking the wood and the bodies burning within them. The smell of burning flesh made Roselyn want to gag and turned her stomach, yet she did not cover her face or her nose from the scent. It would be disrespectful to those who died to do so.

There was one guard who seemed to be in charge of it all. A tall woman with striking red hair and a twisted braid of leather around her head. She was freckled, had a strong jaw and wore armour decorated with the livery of nearby West Hill. When she saw Alistair and Roselyn approaching, she stopped what she was doing and marched up to them.

"No closer," she barked at them both. "The ruins of the castle are structurally unsound. I don't want anyone unauthorised anywhere near."

Roselyn opened her mouth to say something but her voice failed. She looked at Alistair helplessly. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

"I can see you're not a native to Highever," he explained stepping forward, "so perhaps you don't recognise Roselyn Cousland? Teyrn Cousland's daughter?"

The woman did a double take, eyes darting between Roselyn and Alistair and back again. She almost stumbled, mouth falling open in a rush to drop to one knee in a respectful bow. "Please forgive me, Your Highnesses. I had no idea... No one sent word."

"It's alright," Alistair's' voice was kind and he meant his words. The woman stood her armour clanking with her movements. "We didn't send word we were coming, given we had no idea who to send word to."

"That makes sense." She smiled a little. A thin smile, but sincere. "My name is Aveline Vallen, Your Highnesses. Captain of the Guard of West Hill. I was sent with my squad to help with the relief effort as best we could. We arrived a week ago."

"How is it going?" asked Alistair.

"It's slow. What remains of the castle is dangerously unstable and moving the rubble is taking more time that I would like, even working through the night. We were hoping to find survivors but..." Aveline trailed off, looking back at the other guards. Some were organising piles of weapons and armour. Others were taking bodies on stretchers towards the pyres in the distance. Some were out of armour and pulling rocks and boulders from the remains. "The Chantry sisters have been tending to those bodies we've found. Giving last rites and insuring they are sent to the Maker's side."

"That's good." Alistair fell silent. Roselyn could feel him waiting for her to say something, to ask the question burning on her tongue. She wanted to. She could feel it, the words filling her mouth and choking her with their weight but asking it would make it real. Too real. Too tangible. She would have to admit what was in front of her was the truth. That it wasn't all some horrific nightmare she would wake up from. "We came through the village..." Alistair spoke after a lengthy and uncomfortable pause.

Aveline nodded. Roselyn noticed how green her eyes were when she turned them on her. Green. Pretty. Pitying. She wanted to ask her not to look at her like that. She did not want her pity; she should save it for the villagers and the people who had lost loved ones thought safe within the castle walls.

"I have sent word to West Hill and the Bannorn to send all the soldiers and guards they can spare to lend their aid. Many had already sent food and rations to distribute amongst the..." Aveline paused with a grimace. "The survivors."

"I'll write to their lords to thank them," Alistair said, more to himself than to Aveline.

"Many of the farms and villages have been kind enough to take in and house those who lost their homes in the attack. It's good to see so many people banding together in the wake of such a tragedy."

"Yes."

"Have..." Roselyn spoke for what felt like the first time in days. Her voice was a rough croak and she cough to clear her throat. Roo nestled up to her side. Aveline looked at her kindly. "The... Has..." Roselyn pushed cheeks out with a deep sigh. Words. Why couldn't she think of the words she wanted?

Alistair's hand tightened around hers. Maker, why was this so _hard?_

"Does anyone know..." Roselyn tried again and grit her teeth against the sharp prickling behind her nose. "The note that arrived--" She shook her head and looked at Alistair with a feeble shrug of her shoulders.

"The note that arrived from Aldous specified that those who attacked bore no banner," explained Alistair.

"So I've been told," said Aveline. "Most of the... bodies we've recovered inside the castle bear the Cousland crest. Those we have found that show nothing, we have surgeons searching for any other indication of who they are, where they came from, or who sent them."

Alistair's face drew into a frown, "What do you mean?"

"Without a banner it's difficult to know if these were sent by a neighbouring lord, or if they are hired, or if the attack was just random."

"It wasn't random," Roselyn bit out.

Aveline stared at her for a moment, an apologetic look on her face. She continued after Alistair nodded, "Most mercenary bands and assassin guilds mark their people. Tattoos or scars for identification purposes. That is what the surgeons are looking for. Any inkling of who they are affiliated with or where they come from."

"Has there been anything strange?" Alistair tucked a hand behind his back his eyes scanning the people around them going about their unenviable duties. "Any people here who shouldn't be? Anyone loitering around?"

"None, Your Highness," Aveline shook her head. "I have patrols on rotation every hour. No part of what remains of the castle is left unattended at any hour. If there were any miscreants or any looters coming they would be caught and dealt with."

"What do you think, Captain?" Alistair heaved a sigh. "What does this look like to you? A random raid? A planned attack?"

"Honestly," Aveline turned to look at the destruction and debris around them. "This seems too well organised to be a random strike from bandits or a raiding group. In my experience they stick to farms or small villages on the outskirts. Taking on a castle of armed guards would not just be ballsy but suicide."

"I agree."

"It's my belief that this was a carefully orchestrated and timed event. Given the unrest in the capital over the throne, an attack on one of the most prestigious families in Ferelden - let alone the family of the Princess - the potential Queen - seems too coincidental to just be coincidence. If you catch my meaning."

"I do."

"If the Couslands had enemies I would first look to them."

"Rose," Alistair's thumb brushed her knuckles. She realised she was staring at a body the sisters were wrapping. "Do you know if your father had any enemies to speak of?"

She shook her head, unable to tear her gaze away from the crushed and burnt remains. Her body trembled under her dress, her skin cold and clammy. She felt a sickly sweat rise up on her skin, her gown felt too heavy and her stomach tightened, plummeting to her feet. She shook her head more violently and wrenched her hand out of Alistair's. Still staring at the corpse, her eyes widened when a charred hand flopped out of the white linen to the ground.

Roselyn retched. She ran out of the inner bailey and ducked behind a wall doubling over her knees to empty her stomach. Bile burned her throat and nose. Her eyes watered and her skin grew colder with her sweat. Each heave was like a punch to the stomach as if someone had their hands around her and was wringing her out like a cloth. She supported her hand on the wall, unable to control the forceful shivering of her body or stay upright without it. The stones felt wet and like they were frozen under her palm. There was no life, no laughter. Highever was nothing but a pile of rubble. Her family nothing more than burned and unrecognisable bodies.

It had not been real until that moment. And now it was. Now it was flooding over her and threatening to consume her. Her family and her childhood home were gone. Her parents, her brother, his wife. Her niece and nephew who had barely started to live. They were killed in cold blood and there was no one to blame. No one to hold accountable.

She wanted to blame Anora. She wanted to blame Loghain. Part of her even wanted to blame Alistair. But most of all she wanted to blame herself. She had failed them. She had not stopped what happened. She had not been there to warn them. She had not been smart enough or quick enough to know that being married to Alistair and his claim to the throne would put them in danger.

They were dead. Hundreds of people were dead because of her stupidity and slow mind.

When it felt as though her stomach had nothing left to eject, Roselyn leaned all her weight on the wall pressing her cheek to the stone. She mopped her nose and mouth with a handkerchief, dried her eyes and concentrated on the cold of the stone seeping through her skin. These were the walls where she always felt safest. Where she spent years running after Fergus or hiding from her father. Where she learned to read and write. Where she was given her first bow and where she was presented with the litter of mabari puppies from which Roo came.

All memories. Each one precious and now full of regret.

She stood only realising then that Alistair was with her, a hand on her back and the other holding her hair out of her face. She flushed deeply ashamed by what had happened and her behavior. She kept her eyes low. Clenching her hands together she watched her knuckles turn white. She wanted nothing more than to fall into his chest and cry, but what good would that do? Tears did nothing. They solved nothing. They made nothing better, and they brought no one back from the dead. To cry would be a waste of water.

Steeling herself and squaring her shoulders, Roselyn stood, back straight, shoulders down, neck long, as her mother always taught her to do when in the face of adversity. She could see the trouble on Alistair's face, his mouth a thin line. He was confused by her behaviour, by her stance and by how she chose not to display her anguish. She tried to keep her expression cool and collected, steady. She could crumble into pieces later.

"Rose...?"

"I'm fine." She told him swallowing thickly at the harshness of her voice. Her throat felt rough and scorched as if by flame. "Sorry, I--"

"Don't apologise." He placed his hand on her forehead and then on her cheeks. "You're freezing." His face grew more serious, a frown causing deep lines to appear in his forehead and around his mouth.

"What?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. "I asked about your family," Alistair said very slowly teasing a lock of Roselyn's hair behind her ear. He curved his fingers underneath her chin. "They've only found Bryce."

Every inch of her felt like it was being encased in ice from her fingertips to her toes. Roselyn swore her heart stopped beating at the mention of her father's name and lurched in her chest, a painful ache of guilt and longing.

"Wh..." She gulped down a mouthful of air trying to quell the sense of rising sickness. "Where?"

"Apparently he was in what was the great hall. Sword in hand." Roselyn stumbled, her legs giving out from under her and reached out for the wall to support herself. Alistair lay a hand on her waist to help keep her steady. She suddenly had the feeling of the world was spinning very fast and she was standing still. Her mind whirred. At least her father had died fighting. He would be happy with that.

"He was found a few days ago," continued Alistair speaking softly. "He's been wrapped in a shroud ready for the pyre. The sisters said they knew you would be coming, so they wanted to wait." Roselyn bit both her lips into her mouth, scrunching her face up tightly. "I never got to see my father's last rites. You should."

Roselyn stifled a sob behind a hand, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Do you want to?"

She nodded once and took a long breath to settle and compose herself. Alistair took her hand and she followed him blindly towards the pyres not far away.

It was a morose and quiet affair. Bryce's wrapped body was placed on top of the stone pyre and surrounded with kindling. The Cousland family sword was laid over him as a sign of respect and it would be buried with his ashes in the family crypt - if that had survived the attack. A Chantry sister led the prayers and recited a few versus from the Chant of Light. Only Alistair and Roselyn were in attendance and neither of them repeated the parts they were supposed to. A silent protest to the Maker and His 'plan'.

Roselyn was resentful and angry. She never considered herself wholly devout but she believed as much as any Andrastian did in the Maker and Andraste. She believed... And now the Maker had failed her. Not only her, but her family too. Innocent children, servants, workers, and villagers were cut down in this attack and here Roselyn was expected to ask the Maker to welcome her father and her family to his side. She almost wanted to tell the sister to stop and shut up. She wanted to scream at the sky and demand answers for the fate the Maker gave to her family, but held her tongue. It was not the time to debate theology or for her to have a crisis of faith. She remained silent and watched the flames ignite and rise around the body of her father. She saw the linen catch and the blade burn white-hot under the heat. Then she turned around and walked away refusing the let the hot tears she felt stinging her eyes fall.

The mood in the tavern in the evening was sombre and quiet. Aveline joined them when it got dark, her second-in-command, Donnic, having taken over for the night shift. Several of the guards and soldiers sent from neighbouring lands came with her. They sat at tables talking in hushed voices. The guards that accompanied Alistair and Roselyn were obvious with the Denerim sigil and the Theirin coat of arms. They sat to the table closest to Alistair and Roselyn while maintaining a respectful distance. There was no music playing, no bard singing or telling tall tales to while away the hours and lift the spirits of a captive audience. No one played games or lifted their voice above a whisper.

It put Roselyn on edge. She could feel the eyes of the guards and soldiers on her. Stolen glances and quick looks all waiting for her to crack or to break down. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her lose herself in public again. She shamed herself enough in Denerim in front of Anora, Loghain, and almost all the courtiers of the palace. That was an incident that would not be repeated.

The only comfort Roselyn found in the tavern was the smell of roasted mutton being turned on a spit. Her stomach growled, reminding her just how hungry she was. It felt like days since she had eaten and even though she knew she would likely not eat much, she was eager to eat something.

Aveline sat at the table across from her and Alistair, the two of them in a conversation that Roselyn barely listened to. Now she focused in on them, tearing her eyes from staring into nothingness she found they were talking about rebuilding efforts.

"Given the state of the King’s Road getting any materials here would take probably twice the usual amount of time," Alistair explained. "Though perhaps we could ask Orzammar for assistance. King Bhelen owes the crown a debt or two."

"Why ask the dwarves when you have neighbours across the Waking Sea who could send supplies and materials right into dock?" Aveline suggested. She eyed the bar waiting for drinks that Alistair ordered shortly after her arrival.

"Ask for help from the Free Marches?" Alistair pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It's possible. We have good commerce with Kirkwall. And a good relationship with Prince Vael in Starkhaven."

"Or we could request assistance from Orlais," Roselyn spoke up. Aveline and Alistair looked at her as if surprised she was addressing them. "My mother i-- _was_ well liked in Orlais. She was the sponsor of a number of up-and-coming designers, musicians, and artists. She knew quite a lot of influential people."

"And you think they'll pitch in?" Aveline asked her.

"It's possible." Roselyn shrugged her shoulders. "She has... _had_ friends in Orlais. They should be informed at the very least. And given Ferelden's ties with Orlais and the feelings being bred at court by Loghain's mad ravings, this might be an opportune time for the Empress to demonstrate she shows no ill-will towards us. And that she is a friend to Ferelden. That Orlais has no desire to reclaim Ferelden as Loghain thinks."

"That's what he's saying?" Aveline raised her eyebrows and sat back in her seat in shock. "We'd only heard bits and pieces about what is happening in Denerim. I didn't believe a lot of it because it gets twisted up. But Loghain _really_ believes that Orlais want to take back Ferelden?"

"So it seems," Alistair gave a long sigh. "He can't let go of the past. Or he refuses to."

A maid – petite with dark red hair and flashing green eyes - approached and placed a tankard in front of Roselyn with a curtsy. She turned her tray into her apron.

"Where are the other two I ordered?" Alistair asked before the maid could leave.

She bobbed into another curtsey. "Just coming, ser."

Roselyn nudged the mug towards him, "You can have this one if you want."

"No, it's fine." He offered a small smile. "I'll wait."

Roselyn tucked her hands around the metal tankard and drummed her fingernails against it. The liquid inside was a warm, mulled wine and she inhaled the smell deeply. She used to have it as a child on special occasions or if she could not sleep. The scent of cinnamon and cloves made images flood her mind. Her parents sitting with her by a fire, drinking together. Her father reading from a book while she sat on her mother's lap and Fergus sat on the floor. Cuddling Roo when she was a puppy while recovering from a fever. Her chest tightened and Roselyn forced a deep breath in through her nose.

"Loghain is paranoid that Orlais will take over. The proposed marriage between Cailan and Celene probably did not help that paranoia," Alistair continued speaking to Aveline.

"It's strange that he allows Anora to keep an Orlesian lady-in-waiting," mused Roselyn, pausing with the tankard close to her mouth. She returned it to the table without taking a sip. "If he is so paranoid and hates the Orlesians so much, why would he do that?"

"Maybe she's in his debt," Aveline frowned. "Having an informant so close to his daughter allows him to know things he wouldn't know otherwise."

Roselyn glanced at Alistair. He was staring at his hands. The two of them had yet to talk about the implications of Loghain's public revelations about their personal life. They had left so quickly and so early in the morning that no one had a chance to speak to them or mention it to them. Roselyn hoped when they eventually returned the gossip surrounding it would have died down or perished completely. She still felt a sting of anger at Anora for divulging something so personal and something she told her in confidence.

Aveline continued, "And given that she's from Orlais it might mean that it throws the scent of his bigotry."

"Bigotry is right," Alistair grumbled. "I know there's mistrust towards Orlais but Loghain..."

"Do you think he might be responsible for what happened here?"

"Indirectly," Alistair lowered his voice. "Sent someone else to do his dirty work while he pulls the strings far away and out of the line of suspicion."

"Are there really people that dedicated and loyal to Loghain?" Aveline's face drew into a frown. "Or does he have some hold over them?"

"Who knows."

"And more to the point," she hissed. "Who would willingly involve themselves in something like this? A plot where they will be killed if they're found out!" She looked to Roselyn. "Can you think of anyone who held a grudge against your family, my Lady?"

Before Roselyn could respond the maid arrived at the table again. A different bar maid, this one was taller, with wide hips and a round face. Her hair was silvery and long. She carried three tankards on a tray and frowned when she saw one already on the table.

"Where did that come from?" she asked speaking to no one in particular.

"The other maid brought it." Alistair said, glancing around to try and spot the short redhead who brought it.

"Other maid?" She shook her head. "No other maid but me, ser."

Roselyn immediately jerked her hands away from the tankard, quickly pressing them to her body as far from the drink as possible. The sudden movement sent liquid slopping over one side onto the table. It hissed and bubbled when it hit the wood and Roselyn recoiled in her seat.

"Sweet Maker!" Aveline gaped at where the drink ate into the table's surface. She got to her feet, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Alistair grabbed Roselyn's shoulders. "Rose, did you drink any?" She was frozen, staring down at the table. He shook her a little. "Did you drink any?" he asked again, voice growing frantic.

"N-no," Roselyn was shaking and her voice quavered when she spoke.

"Find the other maid!" Aveline barked the guards and soldiers all scrabbling out of their seats. "Find her, and bring her here!"

It was Roo who found the girl, trying to use the cover of darkness and shadows to sneak around the back of the tavern to the stables and steal a horse. Roo cornered her and howled for attention keeping the would be assassin in place with vicious snarls and a firm jaw around her ankle when she tried to run.

Blood dripped from the hound’s maw when she trotted across the floor to Roselyn. The maid was hauled in by guards and she dragged her injured foot behind her smearing blood on the stones. Alistair stood with his hands behind his back, his jaw set and his brows low over his eyes. He stood tall, imposing. To look at him from afar, Roselyn thought him an almost exact copy of Maric. Aveline stood at his side and Roselyn remained seated, her hands folded in her lap trying to hide how much she was trembling.

No one had tried to assassinate her before. She should have expected it. Her family was dead, and until she was too, the Cousland line would never be completely eradicated. That was what the person responsible for her families death wanted – complete annihilation of her family line. To remove a staunch supporter of Alistair's claim and to remove her to weaken it further. Without her, there was no chance of a child. At least not in the near future. It would cement Anora's claim as the stronger and better suited.

The tankard was taken and the contents poured away for safety. Guards lined the walls of the tavern blocking any and all exits in case the woman tried to run. Roo growled at Roselyn's feet, her hackles raised and muscles tensed. She would be on the maid before any guard was if the maid tried to run, and this time Roo would not bite to injure or maim. Roselyn placed a hand on the mabari's head to try and calm her. It did not work. No one was calm. The whole building felt like a feather could shatter it.

Roselyn examined her assassin more closely now she was on her knees before her. Her red hair was trimmed right to her scalp on one side but she had combed what was left over to hide that. Her eyes were a startling green, sharp, intelligent, and even now betraying no fear. She was pale and waifish but not underfed or malnourished. Roselyn reasoned she could not have been much older than she was.

"Why did you try to poison my wife, the Princess?" Alistair asked with a harshness to his voice Roselyn had never heard. He was fighting to control his anger and outrage. He kept his hands behind his back and clenched into fists. For a moment it was like Roselyn was watching Maric.

The maid smiled slowly, her eyes gazing past Alistair and straight to Roselyn. They bored into her, almost glazing over. Roselyn refused to look away though part of her brain screamed at her to do so. She would not be afraid of someone who tried to kill her. She would look them in the eye and ensure they knew she was unafraid. That the murderer of her family could send as many assassins as they had the coin for and she would be resolute and steadfast.

Alistair stepped between them blocking Roselyn's view, "I asked you a question."

More silence. Roselyn peered around Alistair to see that the girl's smile remained mocking and jeering at Alistair with her refusal to speak.

"What was in the drink you served?" Aveline demanded. "What poison was it?" Nothing. The air in the tavern was getting worse. Roselyn could barely breathe, the tension practically crushing her.

Aveline and Alistair asked more questions. Each one the maid did not answer, only smiled with her eyes on them and blinking slowly. Whoever trained her did it well. And whoever paid her did so with a handsome sum to keep her silence. With each unanswered question Alistair's irritation grew. After half an hour Aveline lost her temper. Roselyn saw her lift her hand to strike and stood up pushing the table away from her.

"Don't hurt her!"

Aveline's hand froze in the air. She and Alistair looked back at Roselyn. The eyes of the guards, soldiers and the prisoner turned to her surprised to hear her speak. Snaking out from behind the table, Roselyn came and knelt before the maid.

"I don't know who put you up to this." Roselyn said gently trying to appeal to a softer side, "but is it worth losing your life over? Because that is what will happen to you if you remain silent."

The maid looked at her, eyes scanning her face back and forth, up and down as if imprinting her features and appearance to memory. She inclined her head a little, an indication for Roselyn to move closer. With uncertainty curling her stomach she inched towards her leaving enough space that she could retreat if the assassin moved to harm her somehow. She watched the young woman wet her lips and roll her tongue around in her mouth.

"Long live Queen Anora," she whispered, sending a shiver down Roselyn's spine. There was a muffled crack that came from inside her mouth. Roselyn leaned back in time to see the assassin's eyes roll back into her head and her body go limp. Spittle and saliva began to bubble out of her lips and drain down either side of her mouth. Blood ran from her nose and her body began to convulse violently. Roselyn scrabbled to her feet, wide eyed and afraid. Alistair grabbed her into his arms as if to protect her from what has unfolding before them. A young woman who would rather die than break her silence.

Aveline bellowed at the guards to get the maid on her back. To get water. To turn her onto her side. The poison took her so fast that it was too late to do anything and in minutes she was still on her floor, her eyes dulled and unseeing.

Roselyn breaths were quick and panicked. She fell back into a chair and dangled her head between her legs while fighting to remain calm. She roughly pushed her hands through her hair and covered her ears to drown out the noise of Aveline telling the guards to search the body for clues and to get rid of it. Alistair eased a hand down her back sitting close and shushing her gently. He pressed a kiss to the side of her temple and Roselyn felt his deliberately slow breaths. She tried to copy them and found herself staring across the room.

In the chaos of movement, of feet and voices and armour, something glinted on the ground and caught Roselyn's eye. It was out of the way, under one of the tables, hidden. If Roselyn had not been trying to calm down she would not have seen it. She got to her feet taking a moment to steady herself with her hand on Alistair's shoulder. After a moment she crossed to the table and reached beneath it for what she saw. Fingers curling around the object she examined it straightening up. Alistair joined her clearly concerned and confused.

"What is it?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

'It' was a coin which was sewn into a decorative piece of fabric used to conceal it. The coin was brass and not one used for the purchase of goods or services. It was different, unique, pressed in a very specific way for a very specific purpose. On the coin was a symbol only slightly raised and just visible when Roselyn held the coin at an angle to a candle.

"Was the assassin carrying it?" Alistair tilted his head to one side.

"Maybe? Or it might have been lost in the attack." Roselyn furrowed her brows. "I've seen this before. This sigil."

"You have?"

"Yes..." She handed it to him for him to see and leaned her weight on a table. "I was given one, or one very like it, when I was young. A boy gave it to me as a trinket one Wintersend. A token that I could redeem for a kiss. Made by a very skilled blacksmith."

Alistair arched a brow. "Oh? Who was this boy?"

"The son of someone I believed was a friend to my family. Someone who I now believe is responsible for the carnage here." She met Alistair's gaze. "The boy was Thomas Howe. His father is Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Thanks very much for reading - I appreciate everyone who does. As always, let me know what you think in the comments and the concluding half to chapter 15 will be up in a couple of weeks. <3


	25. Chapter 15: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Roselyn return to Denerim after a month in Highever. Roselyn is distant, throwing herself into helping Highever and the people there from afar, and leaving Alistair at a loss of how to help or comfort her. Shianni has new information pertaining to issues in the Alienage which leaves Alistair feeling the pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to my beta readers, bluvixen and razerathane (both on tumblr). 
> 
> Chapter art provided by strigaz and qissus

_One month later_  
Late Wintermarch/Early Guardian  
  
It took weeks for things in Highever to return to some semblance of normality and order. While there, Alistair sent missives to Ferelden allies in the Free Marches to ask for their assistance in the relief and rebuilding efforts. He also sent requests to Orzammar for ore and building materials. With the Alienage in Denerim complete, he was able to request the masons and builders to come to Highever and lend their services. People flocked from nearby lands to lend their skills, some by their own decision others at the behest of their ruling lords.

Every other day messages arrived from Teagan or Duncan. The two of them worked diligently to keep Alistair updated with life in Denerim while urging him to return sooner rather than later. According to Teagan, Loghain was becoming unbearable. He took Alistair's absence as a sign of him giving in and was braying for Anora to be declared Queen and crowned while he and Roselyn were gone. Fights with Loghain were an almost daily occurrence in the palace. He bickered and shouted at courtiers and declared no member of the court should wear anything from Orlais, despite having no power to instil or uphold such a rule. People were starting to return to their own homes and Arlings until Loghain was brought to heel or Alistair returned.

It was a situation which weighed on heavily on Alistair's mind while he and Roselyn tried to arrange the repairs and relief Highever and the people remaining needed. Roselyn was stalwart, bartering with merchants and sending requests to neighbouring lands for their assistance. She was steady and would not back down, often persuading those of noble standing to send more guard or to share their stored rations from the harvest. 

Her belief that Arl Howe was responsible for the attack on Highever was something they kept quiet. They only informed Teagan and Duncan of their suspicions. Alistair asked Duncan and Teagan to arrange for Howe to be brought to Denerim under the guise of an invitation of goodwill. He hoped the Arl would be there when they returned to the capital and he could begin questioning him on his involvement in the whole affair.

Alistair was impressed by how Roselyn threw herself into the duty and work required to get Highever back on its feet. He suspected that the work was a welcome distraction which allowed her to block the horrible truth from her mind. Even in the evening she worked, went over papers and wrote letters until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Since the burning of Bryce's body she had not mentioned her family or cried. She went about the duties she took on herself with almost fanatic determination. As people returned from where they had fled in the wake of the attack, she greeted them all as if they were old friends. There was never a day she was not up first or in bed last. She went to the few buildings left unscathed and checked on people, registering their names and their families. She ensured they had blankets and enough food, that those who required a healer or medical attention were seen to. He was impressed by her diligence but also worried by it.

When his father and brother died he had had Roselyn at his side to console him and to comfort him. She made sure he ate and slept to keep his strength up and his mind active. He tried to be the same support to her but she almost recoiled from him. Every time he touched her she practically flinched away from him and when they spoke her words were blunt and monosyllabic. She was withdrawing from him, he could almost see her doing it. Pulling further and further away and he felt powerless to stop it. He wanted to be patient, to let her grieve in her own way and her own time, but he was more worried that she would run herself ragged if she continued at the pace she was going.

On their return to Denerim, leaving Highever in the capable hands of Aveline after remaining for a month, he hoped Roselyn would slow down. In hours she was writing to Highever and friends of her family. She asked neighbours of the Highever Teyrnir who weren't already involved or lending aid for their assistance in its rebuilding and she rarely spoke to Alistair.

He was weary the forth afternoon of their return. The council session had gone on longer than he expected and as it finally drew to a close he slumped back in his chair waiting for the room to empty out. Teagan and Duncan had done all they could in his absence, but there were certain things that only Alistair could sign off on considering he was still technically ruling, even if not in the official capacity yet. The work and requests had piled up and though he and the members of the council who remained at the palace worked through it all in the previous sessions, every day there was something else, something new. It was never ending and it gave Alistair a headache.

As the doors to the council chambers closed, Alistair dropped his head over the back of his chair and stared up at the ceiling. The council room was kept plain to prevent distraction while in session. The ceiling was the only part of it that was really interesting. High in the walls were carved faces of past Kings all looming down at the current ruler and over seeing their work. The ceiling itself was painted with a depiction of Andraste’s ascent to the Maker’s side. As a child, sitting in the sessions and being bored, Alistair used to examine the picture as closely as he could noticing little details like the shafts of light breaking through Andraste’s hair made to look like fire. Now he realised he had not examined it in such a way for a long time and sighed, lacing his hands together over his chest.

Things were simpler back then. Back when he knew his place and there was so much less confusion and he was sure of everything. He was sure that Maric would rule until he died of old age. He was sure Cailan would succeed him. And he was sure that Cailan’s oldest son would rule afterwards. He would never see the throne, he never wanted the throne. How things had changed and he struggled to see if they had changed for the better.

His return to Denerim after a month long absence threw Loghain into an incandescent rage. He made a spectacle of himself, shouting in the hall how Alistair was away so long that Anora should have been crowned simply on principle of not abandoning the capital at such a sensitive time. Alistair had lost patience with Loghain. He did not furnish him with a reply and refused to converse unless necessary. He still suspected Loghain had something to do with Highever and was determined to find out what.

After several minutes of quiet reflection the door to the council chamber opened and Alistair lifted his head to see Duncan entering. Even before he spoke Alistair knew whatever he had to say was not positive so braced himself and sat up straight.

“Bad news?” he asked Duncan.

“I am afraid so, Your Highness.” Duncan placed his hands flat on the table and grimaced as if injured. Alistair took a deep inhale, focusing on the sensation of his chest expanding.

“Arl Howe?” Alistair had hoped Arl Howe would be in Denerim ready to be questioned when he and Roselyn returned. He was not.

“Has disappeared,” Duncan cut straight to the point. “Both Bann Teagan and I have sent scouts and had reports for various sources around Amaranthine. Arl Howe has vanished, Your Highness, along with his family.”

“Vanished?” repeated Alistair. “How can that be? He can’t have just vanished. What about the people in the Arling? He can’t have just left them.”

Duncan stood straight, “It appears he left his Captain of the Guard in charge but gave no information as to where he was going or how long he would be gone.”

“If that doesn’t scream guilt then I don’t know what does,” Alistair ran his fingers back and forth across his forehead. “And he gave no indication of how to contact him?” He looked up at Duncan.

“None that we know of, Your Highness. We still have people scouring the lands and in the ports in case the Arl tries to escape Ferelden to the Free Marches or further afield. His face is well known. It is only a matter of time until he and his family is apprehended.”

Grunting, Alistair got to his feet. “It’s not just apprehending him though,” he huffed, stalking back and forth with his hands behind his back. “Now I have another area without a person in charge. I know Highever is going to be well cared for with Aveline taking care of things until an arrangement can be made for someone to take over – preferably a distant relation to the Cousland family. But Amaranthine...” He ruffled a hand through the short bristles of his beard. “Amaranthine is on the coast. We need it to be well defended and well stocked for traders and merchants sailing in from Rivain and Antiva. It’s one of the busiest ports in Ferelden and Howe has left it without leadership.”

“Perhaps in the interim it would be advisable for one of the neighbouring Arls to be made a temporary steward,” Duncan suggested after a brief silence. Alistair looked at him, pausing his angry walking. “At least until Arl Howe and his family are located and their guilt or innocence is ascertained.”

“Hmm,” Alistair pursed his lips. “A good idea and the only one we have. I’ll consider who best to put in charge for the time being.” He sighed and looked at Duncan from across the table. This man he considered a friend, who had known his father and continued to remain his ally through the turmoil. He puffed his cheeks out on a sharp breath. “Be honest with me, Duncan.”

“Your Highness?”

“Do you believe Arl Howe could be responsible for the massacre at Highever?”

Duncan’s face was still. He was an expert at making himself unreadable and yet appearing approachable. Nothing about him changed. Not a whisker of his beard or a tuft of his greying hair. “The Princess believes it is so.”

“I know.”

“Do you doubt her?”

“No,” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t doubt her. But... Arl Howe he... Did you ever meet him?”

“No, Your Highness. I know him only by reputation.”

“And what do you know of his reputation?”

“I have heard is that he has high aspirations for his family. That he wishes to elevate them and would do so by any means necessary. I understand his daughter was to be married to the Princess’ brother, before he took his own bride and broke the agreement. That would have been a match to raise his family above their current station.”

“Anything else?”

Duncan hummed thoughtfully. “He leads a large force, though that is understandable given the position of his Arling. Not a military minded man, though he has seen a number of battles, I have heard he is shrewd and has a sharp mind.”

“Duncan,” Alistair leaned on the table and looked across at him squarely. “Given all you know, all you’ve heard of Arl Howe... Does he sound like the kind of man who would arrange an uprising and massacre the Teyrn of the neighbouring lands?”

“On his own, no,” Duncan spoke plainly. “But if he was promised something? If he was being led or goaded? Perhaps if he thought doing so would find him a high position, then yes. I believe Arl Howe would be capable of anything, given the right leadership and circumstances.”

Neither of them spoke the name, but they did not have to. It was as if an inaudible shout of Loghain's name passed between them. Loghain was a leader that Arl Howe would follow. Loghain would be the man to push the Arl into acting rashly and doing something as heinous and killing innocents, all for the betterment of his own family and in a grasp for power. The air pulsed and the hair on the back of Alistair’s neck stood straight.

“Thank you, Duncan,” he smiled weakly. “I appreciate your honesty and how candid you’ve been.”

Duncan bowed, “Your Highness.” As he rose, his stance relaxed. “May I ask, how is the Princess? All I see and hear of her is that she is throwing herself into the repair and rebuilding of Highever.”

“She is,” Alistair sighed. “I’m worried for her. She won’t speak to me. She doesn’t cry. She barely sleeps or eats. I...” He tutted. “I’m at a loss. How can I be there for her if she won’t allow me to be?”

“Grief is a complicated thing, Your Highness,” Duncan said kindly. “The Princess has had a grievous shock, losing both her home and her family to an unknown assassin. She will deal with it in her own way, as each person does.”

“I know that.”

“What she needs now is your patience. Your patience, and the certainty that when she is ready to properly allow herself to grieve, you will be there to help her through the pain she is undoubtedly trying to block out.”

“Of course I will be,” Alistair furrowed his brows. “I don’t know what I would have done without her after my father and Cailan died. She was all that kept me tethered and grounded.”

“Then make sure she knows that.” A small smile pulled at Duncan’s mouth beneath his beard and his dark eyes shone. “With your permission Your Highness, Fiona and Shianni arrived with me and wished to speak to you once our business was concluded.”

“Oh, send them in.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And Duncan?” He stopped half way between the table and the door peering back at Alistair. “Thank you again for your advice.” Duncan bowed once more, a small bob of his head and went to the doors. As he left, Shianni entered and Fiona a few moments later after exchanging a handful of quiet words with Duncan.

Alistair stood with his hands behind his back. He tried to gauge from Shianni’s expression and her stance what her mood was but drew a blank. She stood with her arms folded. Her eyes were blood shot, that much Alistair could see and beneath them were dark hollows as if she was not sleeping. She did not look sickly though, her cheeks were a healthy pink, the end of her nose and ears were reddened from the cold outside.

“Shianni?”

“I won’t keep you,” Shianni blurted out. “I know you’ve got a hundred other things to do but this is important.”

“All right.”

Fiona came to Shianni’s side, a silent support though Alistair was not certain Shianni needed it.

“You remember what I told you? Before everything with Highever happened? About elves disappearing?”

“Yes. You said think it started happening around Firstfall.”

“It’s still happening.”

Alistair gripped the back of a chair, “Right.”

“Only before it was elves who didn’t have any connections. No friends or family so to speak of in the Alienage. Now it’s elves with family. With friends. Elves with businesses. And it’s every night someone new goes missing,” Shianni’s voice rose with panic and she spoke faster the more words she said. “I noticed it about a fortnight ago. My friend Hattie disappeared from her bed, no struggle, no blood and no noise. Just gone. Then our local seamstress went the night after. The baker’s son, Moril. More and more are disappearing and I can’t do anything to stop it!” she choked. Fiona placed a hand on her arm.

“Each time someone has disappeared, Shianni and I have examined their homes and their beds to see if there is any sign or clue as to who is responsible,” explained Fiona locking eyes with Alistair. “There is nothing. Whoever is taking these people is professional and can get in and out without being seen.”

“And these are people who have made no mention of wanting to leave? Who are happy in their lives and jobs?” Alistair asked, needing the clarification.

Shianni nodded, “Yes.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Moril just turned eleven. And Hattie was due to get married to someone from another Alienage in a week. She was excited about it. Kept talking about what flowers she wanted to wear in her hair! There’s no reason for her to disappear.”

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, “And there’s no sign or clue as to who is responsible?”

“Nothing,” Fiona said. “Not a hair. No drop of blood. Not a scrap of fabric snagged on a piece of furniture. It’s as if whoever is responsible are shadows moving in and out of the houses without a sound.”

He growled, “How can that be?” He turned his eyes to Fiona. “Could it be some form of magic?”

“It’s possible,” she shrugged. “Shianni wanted to propose a plan to you, but I thought it too dangerous.”

“What kind of plan?”

“If I make a fuss in the square around the vhenadahl every day then maybe whoever is taking people will try to take me,” explained Shianni. “I could be used as bait and if you get your guards down into the Alienage, they could attack whoever is trying to take me away and make them tell us the whereabouts of the others.”

“No.” Shaking his head Alistair ran a hand back through his hair. “Fiona is right, it’s too dangerous to use you as bait for something like this. If you make a fuss there’s nothing to say you won’t be the first casualty just to get you to be quiet.”

“My people are disappearing from their beds!” shouted Shianni, eyes blazing. “This is the only plan we have. Unless you have a better one rattling around in that head of yours, Princeling.”

Taken aback by her sudden outburst Alistair’s mouth fell open. He glanced at Fiona who looked as shocked as he was and then back to Shianni. He saw her shoulders were squared and hunched around her ears, her whole body tense and wound tight.

“I—“

“You said you want to help us,” Shianni bit out almost savagely.

“I do.”

“Then prove it.” She stepped up to the end of the table and planted her hands flat. Her eyes bored into Alistair’s almost burning through him. “Don’t just say you care about us and ignore it when my people start to disappear. Either you help me with this or I go about it on my own and the elves in the Alienage know for certain you’re just as bad as Maric.”

Without awaiting and answer Shianni turned on her heel and strode towards the doors. She barged through them yanking one back and letting it slam against the wall which made Alistair wince. He and Fiona exchanged confused and stunned looks before Fiona took off after Shianni, calling her name. Alistair released a long breath he was unaware he was holding and rubbed his hands in his face wearily. He knew he had no choice but to go along with Shianni’s plan. It was the only one available unless he or someone else came up with a new one which put no one in danger.

Scratching his hands through his hair and along his scalp, Alistair groaned. In any normal circumstance he would talk something like this over with Roselyn, but given her current disposition of avoiding him and keeping herself busy he was not certain she would listen or want to speak to him. He chewed the corner of his bottom lip for a moment before making his decision. He would ask her, if only because it might spark some interest and they might have a conversation.

He left the council room through a small door hidden behind tapestries at the far end. It was the route the servants used to get from place to place quickly and without being seen, but it was also the fastest route from the council chamber to the royal wing of the palace. It also meant Alistair could move and avoid people and avoid being drawn into unwanted conversation.

Venturing down one hallway then another, Alistair smiled awkwardly at the servants who were shocked to see him and dropped into quick bows, stopping whatever task they were in the middle of. He climbed a spiral staircase and went along another narrow hallway until he came to a door which led out into the hallway of the royal apartments. The sound of sharp, harsh voices made him pause with his hand against it.

“Don’t lie to me!” He recognised the first voice as Anora’s and realised suddenly he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was about to turn and retrace his steps but his curiosity got the better of him. “I wanted the throne for my child, his rightful place and I wanted it through legitimate means! I am not some pawn for you to use and discard! I don't care what you've promised Howe.”

“Hush, Anora,” Loghain spoke to her as if calming a frantic child. Alistair could almost imagine her expression of outrage at being addressed in such a patronizing way. “Do not upset yourself. You could harm the child.”

“Tell me the truth, father,” Anora snapped. Her voice sounded as though it came closer to the door and Alistair pushed himself against the opposing wall as if she might see him. “Roselyn’s family, was it your doing? Or was it Howe all on his own?”

Alistair held his breath. If Loghain said yes then he implicated himself. Alistair would have the proof he needed and be able to tell Roselyn. He would be able to tell everyone. Loghain would be exiled or perhaps they would call for his execution. He inched towards the door straining every one of his senses and wincing when his boot brushed the floor.

“Why must you focus so much on that girl? She is one of the obstacles between us and the throne.” Loghain’s voice dropped lower. Alistair tried not to feel disappointed.

“The throne is not for us!” Anora replied. “As I have said over and over. It is for my son! And I am concerned about Roselyn. I care about her. She is ... _was_ my friend.”

“Exactly. Was,” barked Loghain. “Need I remind you she tried to attack you?”

“She had just learned her family was dead and her home burned! She was lashing out. I do not blame her in the least for her behaviour,” said Anora. “That you used that moment to your advantage is deplorable.”

“Anora—“

“I do not know who you are anymore, but you certainly are not acting as my father. Perhaps isolating yourself in Gwaren for so long has addled your mind.” Alistair heard a flurry of movement; footsteps, Anora yelping, and what he could only assume was her body hitting the wall. “Let go of me!”

“Everything I have done thus far I have done for you and for the good of Ferelden,” Loghain growled. Alistair wanted to make his presence known and step out of his hiding place to come to Anora’s defence but held off. Anora would not be happy to know a private conversation had been over heard and Loghain was so unpredictable his response could be violent towards them both. “I will not allow you or anyone to threaten or undo what I have accomplished so far and what I intend to continue to accomplish as I cleanse Ferelden of everything that is truly polluting the land. Do you understand?”

“Let go! You’re hurting me!”

Loghain’s voice grew waspish. “Do you understand?” he hissed. Alistair was frozen in place, a cold bead of sweat trickled down his spine.

“Yes. I understand,” Anora growled. “Now let go of me!” There was a grunt, the sound of heavy fabric moving and two sets footsteps moving at different speeds. Alistair waited, barely breathing until he was certain there was no one on the other side of the wall. He turned on his heel and quickly started making his way through the passages in the correct direction, his mind reeling.

He could hardly comprehend what he had just heard. Loghain threatening Anora. Not exactly an admission of guilt, but something that made any doubt of Loghain’s involvement in the massacre of Highever disappear from his mind. It was him. He was the one behind it all. Howe was just a pawn and so was Anora. He wanted to know what these plans were. His plans for Ferelden and for the throne. What was this cleansing of Ferelden he mentioned? He thought back to Shianni and the elves disappearing in the Alienage. Did Loghain have anything to do with that too? Or was that merely coincidence?

His mind was racing as he charged into his and Roselyn’s chamber. He ran to his desk and a scrawled a note to Shianni saying he would go along with her plan and that she need only name a day and he would be there to assist her. He took it to the door and asked a servant to deliver it to Fiona so she could take it to Shianni. He paced the floor a few times. He needed to calm himself and focus his mind, to organise his thoughts and consider a plan of action.

He was breathing hard, his chest aching from the short, shallow breaths he stole. Loosening several buckles on his collar and jerkin, he went to the bed chamber to try and calm down, closing the door behind him. He wondered if he should tell Roselyn what had transpired between Anora and Loghain or if doing so would do more harm than good. He worried that if Roselyn knew the truth she would react badly and demand drastic action be taken against Loghain. She would be within her rights to want something to be done, but for now all Alistair had as proof was an overheard conversation. It would be his word against Loghain's and if Anora sided with her father as she was likely to do, Alistair would look a fool.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was not alone in the room and that it was bathed in warm light from candles lit on different surfaces and a fire burning low in the hearth. There was a distinct smell of steam in the air mixed with the sharp scent of a herb he could not place. Roselyn sat at her vanity across the room brush in hand staring at him in the mirror. Her hair was damp and cascading down her back, longer out of its natural ringlets. The heat of the room had flushed her cheeks. She put the brush down and turned towards him on the stool. Her long legs were bare and droplets of water still clung to her skin. She wore a deep violet robe of silk, tied loose at her waist which barely came down to her thighs and gaped a little around her shoulders and chest.

When she got to her feet Alistair gulped hard on the lump in his throat. She looked like something walking out of a painting or a dream and he found himself blushing, his eyes wandering up and down her body where she stood. He had grown so accustomed to seeing her, either naked or in his shirts, that he took for granted how beautiful she really was. Seeing her standing there looking as vulnerable as she did was a shocking reminder.

"Alistair?" Roselyn clasped her hands in front of her and tilted her head to one side. Her voice snapped him from his trance-like stupor and he took a step towards her. He expected her to retreat, something he had become used to in recent weeks. Instead she remained where she was and he took several more paces until she was within arm's reach. His fingers itched to touch and hold her. To wrap her within his embrace and reacquaint himself with everything about her. It felt like months since she had allowed him so close. The air felt electric and he bit the inside of his cheek, holding off on his desires.

"I..." He swallowed to dampen his dry throat. "I didn't realise you were..." Funny, before he had something in his head. Something urgent and important, and yet now he could not recall what it was for the life of him. "I'm sorry for intruding."

Her lips curved into a coy smile, "Why are you apologising? This is your room as much as mine." Alistair stretched a tentative hand towards her trailing his fingers up over the skin of her hand and the smooth material of her robe. Her breaths were slow and measured, her eyes on his, unwavering. His fingers followed the curve of her shoulder and up her neck, sweeping along her jaw and around the shell of her ear. Her eyelids fluttered gently and lips parted on a small sigh.

Without warning he closed the space still lingering between them and crushed her into his chest. He buried his face in her neck inhaling deeply. He realised the sharp herby smell was coming from her, something in her hair or an oil she had rubbed into her skin. He almost shuddered with pleasure to feel her arms go around him and her fingers clutch to the back of his jerkin with just as much tightness as he held her. Roselyn turned her face into his neck. He felt her eyelashes tickle his skin.

"Maker, I thought I was losing you," Alistair muttered, over whelmed by the relief washing over him.

"Losing me?"

"I feel like you've been pulling away from me," he explained and lifted his head to look at her. He cupped her face in his hands and drifted his thumbs over her soft skin. "With Highever and everything that's happened, I don't blame you for it. I want to be there for you like you have been there for me. But I didn't know how." He realised he was babbling, words falling from his mouth like a waterfall but he could not bring himself to stop. So much weighed on him and to endure the last month without Roselyn's closeness had made him realise how much he had come to rely on and appreciate her. "I didn't want to force you to talk to me. I've been so worried about you and felt powerless to do anything. I've hated it. Every second of it. I don't want you to go through your grief alone bu--"

"Shh." Roselyn placed her hand over his mouth putting a premature end to his words. Alistair fell silent and remained so when she removed her hand. "I know I've been distant. But everything is going to be fine now, I promise." He watched her bite her lip as if considering something. Then she lifted herself onto her toes inclining towards him and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

Her kiss warmed him and he wound her up in his arms. His skin tingled all the way from his lips down to his fingers and toes. He relaxed into her embrace and into the way her lips moulded over his with heady familiarity. Her hands moved across his back to his shoulders, curling into the material of his jerkin. He had missed her kisses, her mouth, and the intimacy garnered from such a simple act. He never wanted to be without it and while his stomach coiled and desire began to bubble in his gut, he would not push for more.

One of Roselyn's hands disappeared from his shoulder for a moment. A soft rustle of fabric caught his attention and Alistair opened his eyes in time to see the knot on her robe come loose. The silky garment fell open and slipped down off her shoulders with ease. It slid from under his arms to pool on the floor around Roselyn's feet, leaving her naked under his hands. Alistair pulled away from her kiss. He fought to keep his eyes on her face but his gaze was drawn down as he appreciated the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist, and the swells of her hips. He swallowed hard, his gaze growing hazy when he returned it to Roselyn's face.

"R-Rose, we..." He almost whimpered to the way she placed soft, enticing kisses along his neck and his jaw, her teeth just grazing his skin in the most delicious way. His toes curled in his boots and his pulse quickened under her lips. Roselyn's fingers worked at the remaining buckles on his jerkin which were still fastened. "We... we don't have to..."

"Do you not want to?" She eased his jerkin from his shoulders and it joined her robe on the floor. Alistair closed his eyes, revelling in the soft caress of her lips and the warmth of her breath on his skin. The intoxicating smell of herb the oil in the air and of _her_ that he had not realised he had missed so much.

"It's not that..." He swallowed again and felt his Adam's apple bob almost painfully in his throat. Roselyn loosened his belt and pulled the hem of his shirt out from the waist of his trousers. Alistair stroked his fingers up and down her sides, enjoying the way her flesh trembled beneath his touch and how the fine hairs on her body stood up excitedly. He was falling into her willingly and without regret. Too enthralled and enamoured by her to stop and think of the more serious issues he should be focusing on. A moment of selfishness, they could afford themselves that. Roselyn's fingers wandered across his abdomen beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing over his belly button and rising up pushing his shirt with them. "I don't want you to feel obligated," he managed to half say and half groan.

Roselyn teetered on her tip toes, reaching up until her lips and teeth closed around the lobe of his ear where she nipped and suckled. He bent to be closer to her height and his eyes rolled back into his head at the sensation, how it tickled and made his nerves dance beneath his skin. As she lifted his shirt, removing her lips for only a moment to pull it over his head and arms, she cushioned her breasts against his bare chest and spread her hands across the broad plain of his back. Alistair slipped his hands down over her shoulder blades and her spine. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck, littering soft kisses along her throat and shoulder.

"I don't feel obligated," Roselyn assured him in a voice barely above a whisper. Alistair captured her mouth in a hard, fierce kiss as her hands wound down his back and her fingers tucked underneath the hem of his trousers. He supported the base of her skull in one hand, tangling her hair around his fingers. She murmured into his mouth, arching into the touch of his hand winding down the small over her back and over her buttocks. He traced invisible shapes and random patterns over her skin with the tips of his fingers. Her body trembled against him, her fingers quaking as they worked and loosened his trousers until she could push them down over his hips.

Alistair paused her hands and guided her to their bed. He ushered her onto the covers, kissing her between stolen breaths and removed his boots, trousers, and small clothes. He climbed on top of her positioned snugly between her legs. His kisses were deep and heartfelt as he poured as much affection and ardour into each brush of his lips on hers as was possible. He never wanted her to doubt how much he adored her or how much she meant to him.

He took his weight on his knees, rising above her enough that his hands could move freely over her body. He kissed her neck, his teeth scraping along the column of her throat and followed along the angle of her collar bone. He filled his hands with her breasts, relishing the way they fit. He kissed the swells of them as he fondled and groped, enjoying the way Roselyn arched up into his touch and his attention. He dragged the tip of his tongue over a plump pink nipple, swirling and coaxing it to a peak. He bit down around the sensitive nub with his front teeth, just hard enough that Roselyn gasped and scratched her fingers through his hair and over the top of his back. Alistair lavished her opposing nipple with the same attention, teasing and pinching the first between his thumb and forefinger.

Roselyn eased one of her legs between his and bent her knee to caress his length. Gentle ministrations which made the muscles in his thighs tighten like tense springs. Alistair nudged one hand between her legs, inching his fingers along her lower lips. Roselyn rocked her hips to grind the crux of her mound against the heel of Alistair's hand. He held it still allowing her the moment of control and smiled at the soft sounds falling from her lips. He kissed down over her ribcage and her belly, nibbling at the skin of her belly button before venturing lower. He kissed her hip bone, the tops, and the insides of her thighs, his hands following down to stroke the backs of her legs.

Alistair bestowed kisses and caressed his hands over her skin. He traced her thighs, the backs of her knees and her calves. His hands ventured up over her backside, her hips, up her back to her shoulder blades until his was certain her had kissed every inch of her and was positioned above her once more. Roselyn said nothing, only kissed him hotly when he sheathed himself inside her, groaning at the sensation of being inside her after going what felt like so long without it. Alistair was amazed at how fulfilling the sensation was. Another thing he had started to take for granted and would never do again. He pressed his forehead to Roselyn's breaking her kiss and leaning his weight on his hands to better view her. He stroked his fingers down her face and over her jaw, satisfied enough just to feel her body hot and welcoming around him.

"I love you," Alistair said, kissing the end of Roselyn's nose. Her grey eyes met his and he brushed his thumb over her eyebrow. "You know that, don't you?"

"I know." Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. Alistair strained on his arm so not to crush her. "I love you, too." He heard her voice crack on her words, but before he could ask her what was wrong she distracted him with a hard kiss. Alistair would have been happy to remain comfortably inside her, delighting in the togetherness of being joined so intimately, but his instincts kicked in motivating him to move, gradually rocking his hips.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, his desire to draw things out as long as possible more powerful that his need for release. He did not want this to be a brief encounter. He wanted Roselyn to know through every gesture, every touch and movement how precious she was. Alistair spread one hand over the top of her back to hold her to him; the other was position beside her head, taking his weight. He was on his knees, Roselyn lifted her hips to meet each drive of his own, her head arching back into the sheets and her fingers gripping to his back keeping him as close as he kept her.

Kissing her neck, Alistair felt her swallow mouthfuls of air her throat moving against his mouth. Her pulse raced, thrumming steadily, and she tightened her thighs around his hips, grounding him to her. He created friction rubbing his pelvis against the hood of her sex with each connection his hips made. He stuttered and started, reaching close to climax and holding off just a little longer. Roselyn's muscles contracted around him, making her slick and tight while making every thrust harder than the last.

Driving into her, Alistair listened to the little grunts that tumbled from between her lips and into his ears. The soft murmurs of his name, and the quiet pleas for him to move harder, faster, or deeper. He obeyed each of her requests, squeezing his fingers around the inside of one thigh to position her leg differently or change the angle of her hip. He buried his face into her hair and her neck, his hot breath dampening her skin. His heart raced, thumping and thundering in his head and sending blood gushing through his veins, deafening him to most other sounds.

Roselyn's hands grappled fruitlessly for his haunches, her fingers pressing into his muscles clutching him close as he moved faster. Alistair rubbed and ground his pelvis against her, pulling out a little and easing inside with each gesture. Roselyn's body tensed beneath him and her head arched further back, a strangled moan falling from her mouth. Everything inside her clenched around him deliciously and Alistair shattered in her arms, burying himself inside her and nestling his face into the curve of her shoulder.

Holding his weight off her on one arm, Alistair caught his breath pressing his forehead into the covers beside Roselyn's head. His heart beat slowed and the constricting around his chest alleviated as he came down from his high. He pressed a kiss to Roselyn's lips smiling when he pulled away. His smile disappeared when he saw tears beading in the corners of her eyes and a cold fear gripped him.

"Maker, Rose." He eased out of her and dabbed at her eyes with his thumbs. The quiet lull of pleasantness brought on by climax was now gone in a rush, replaced with a sickly chill. Roselyn sniffled and covered her face with her hands, bringing her legs into her body and rolling onto her side away from him. "Rose, I'm sorry," Alistair said, growing frantic and his voice becoming higher with the weight of his concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." He reached out to touch her shoulder but stopped short. What if she didn't want him to touch her? What if she did not want him near her again? What had he done?

"It's not you," Roselyn mumbled. A small drop of relief plopped into Alistair's pond of worry at the sound of her voice. "It's not. It's me."

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and sat up. He flexed his fingers over her considering what to do. "M... May I touch you?" he asked her, his hair prickling on the back of his neck. "I won't if you don't want me to. I just..."

Roselyn rolled over to face him. She climbed onto her knees and curled into his chest without warning. Her tears came flowing freely and without pause, her sniffles descending into agonized sobs which shook and wracked her body making it quake. Alistair cradled her to him. He wrapped her in a blanket and kissed her temple, stroking his hands along her arms and over back. He did not know what brought it on, but this was what he was waiting for. For Roselyn to simply let go and cry. To allow herself to feel the pain of the recent weeks and the events which had transpired and begin to work through it.

He waited patiently, hushing her with gentle touches and a gentler voice. He brushed away her tears with his fingers, stroked her hair until she was quieter and had calmed considerably.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Alistair looked her in the face. He smiled at her flushed cheeks, at her bloodshot eyes, and the reddened tear tracks. "I'm actually relieved."

She gave him a puzzled stare. "Why?"

"I've been worried about you, bottling everything up and throwing yourself into repairing Highever and caring for its people," he explained kindly. "I'm glad you've finally let yourself _feel_ something."

"Terrible timing," Roselyn laughed weakly, a pained smile curving her mouth.

Alistair shook his head and pressed his lips to her forehead, "Maybe you just needed to feel comfortable."

"I wanted to block it out," Roselyn stated, wiping her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "I wanted to focus on something - _anything -_ so I couldn't give myself time to think. Because it hurts to think. It hurts to talk." Her voice cracked and she clutched the blanket Alistair draped over her to her body. "Alistair, it hurts to breathe."

"I know it does." Alistair swallowed thickly, remembering how hard he found even the most mundane task after his father and brother died.

"Does it ever go away?"

He smiled sadly, "It will. In time." He stroked the space between her brows and then pressed a soft kiss there. "But you're not alone, you know. You don't have to shoulder the loss in on your own. You can tell me anything."

"I just wanted to be strong," Roselyn sniffled, "I have to be. There's so much happening. So much is changing, and I have to be strong for us."

"What do you mean, everything is changing?" Alistair smoothed Roselyn's hair out over her shoulders. "Roselyn, you're one of the strongest people I know. If you were any stronger for the two of us then you wouldn't need me."

"Three of us," Roselyn corrected in a small voice.

"For the three of us," repeated Alistair. There was a beat of silence, and then the implication of her words dawned on him. His eyes widened and he stared at her. Roselyn looked back, cheeks darkening to scarlet.

"I wasn't sure at first. But now I am," she explained, cupping his cheek in her palm. "I missed my monthly courses during Firstfall, but I didn't want to say anything and be wrong. Then I missed it again, while were in Highever and I've missed this month too..." Her voice trailed and she dropped her gaze and hands down into her lap.

Alistair was barely breathing as his gaze flicked from Roselyn's face to where her belly was beneath the layers of the covers and back up. His mouth gaped open and his heart thudded at the back of his throat. His mouth went dry and when he tried to speak, no sound would come. His eyes watered and stung. Opening and closing his mouth several times, he eased his hands around Roselyn's jaw and coaxed her to turn her head and look at him. He gulped hard, and closed his eyes to centre himself, trying to ignore the way his stomach churned and butterflies fluttered within feeling more like a stampede of wild horses.

"Rose," Alistair breathed, "Are you trying to tell me you're pregnant?"

"I think so." Roselyn bit the corner of her bottom lip, a coy smile coming into view as her eyes softened on his. "Yes."

* * *

 


	26. Chapter 16: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week on from Roselyn's announcement to Alistair that she's pregnant, the two of them take some time from the chaos around them for themselves. Alistair wants to publicly celebrate his future child, while Roselyn has some reservations. As they come to a compromise, Alistair makes a rather hasty exit to visit the Alienage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr).
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Teen

_One week later  
Beginning of Guardian_

_\--_

Roselyn felt as though telling Alistair she was pregnant threw her body into overdrive. She considered herself lucky that she was mercifully spared the terrible sickness Oriana had experienced while pregnant with Frances, but now she found she ballooned as if over night. Her feet began to swell so she had servants loosen her shoes to making walking more comfortable. Foods she once enjoyed now turned her stomach, and she found she was almost always tired no matter how much slept.

She noticed one morning as she was dressing a subtle swell to her belly that had not been there before, as if the child growing inside her was now determined to make sure everyone knew about it, not just its parents. Roselyn discovered how easy it was to absently smooth her hand over the small bump when not thinking. While writing letters or walking around her hands automatically went to rest there, a protective barrier to the dangers of the world outside.

The growth was not so obvious to anyone else, nor was it so immense that she needed her dresses letting out or new ones to be ordered. She could still wear her clothes, just with the bodice tied a little looser to give her room to move and breathe more comfortably.

Once his initial shock had worn off, Alistair was a mixture of overjoyed and terrified. His first concern was whether they might have hurt the child in any way.  If he knew of her condition, he would not have allowed things to go as far as they did. After Roselyn assured him the baby was fine, Alistair was more relaxed and hugged her as hard as possible without crushing her for some time.

The joy of their child helped relieve Roselyn's grief somewhat. She had something to focus her mind on, and knew she would need to take every care and precaution in the months to come. Knowing that something wonderful could still exist in a world full of turmoil and personal tragedy helped with the sudden waves of sadness that would sometimes wash over her. Walking in the garden or pouring over documents about Highever, she would feel tears beading at the corners of her eyes unbidden and be forced to swallow them back.

It was still hard, waking every day and believing for a brief second that everything was as it should be; that her family would come visit the palace before the baby was born, and that she would have her mother and sister-in-law there when the labour eventually started. That moment of bliss gave way to the harsh reality, and Roselyn was faced with the fear of going through what should have been a happy time quite alone.

She had Alistair of course, but it was not the same. For all her mother's faults, she was always a woman Roselyn could rely on. When she was a girl, Eleanor spoke endlessly to Roselyn about the children she would someday have, how they would be important, how they would have influence over much of Ferelden, and how it was Roselyn's duty to raise strong sons and clever daughters. Roselyn turned her nose up at such a thought back then, thinking she would never want children of her own. All she wanted to do then was follow in her brother's footsteps and learn how to fight and ride. As she got older and the idea became less abhorrent, she never doubted her mother would be there to hold her hand and guide her through the difficult months of her first pregnancy and the early weeks of her child's life.

Now she realised she would have to face those months and those weeks without the support she took for granted. If things were not so difficult between them and their relationship not quite so strained, she would have approached Anora. They could have been one another's support. But she burnt that bridge with her words and actions and did not see a way to repair it.

Roselyn tried not to dwell on what she did not have and instead turned her attention to what she did have and kept herself busy. Highever was still in disarray and every day there were new letters and messages arriving for her and Alistair reporting on its rebuilding and the people as they slowly returned. She had Alistair to support while he tried to run the Kingdom with Loghain breathing down his neck and trying to block him at every turn. At moments where her grief threatened to swallow her whole, Roselyn was able to remind herself of all she had to look forward to.

Alistair helped in that regard. He was more enthralled and excited at the prospect of being a parent than she was. In private he would take every opportunity to touch her with more tenderness and gentleness than she was already accustomed to. He marvelled at all the small changes her body started to exhibit and cursed that he was not by her side all the time. He complained about the possibility of missing things. He insisted that he wanted to be there to hold her hand when she went down the stairs and took great enjoyment in helping her undress at the end of the day - going so far as to dismiss her ladies-in-waiting early - if only so he could feel her belly unencumbered.

Their rooms remained their private sanctuary where the two of them were the most relaxed and at home. They still worked, Alistair often sitting and writing letters at his desk or reading newly arrived ones to Roselyn, but there was no pressure on them to maintain a dignified and proper air. In the days following her announcement, Alistair's desire to work in the evenings grew less and less. Roselyn found herself scolding him more often than not for ignoring his duties to smother her with affection and to lie with her on their bed, his hand placed softly over her belly.

A week on from telling him of her pregnancy, that was where she found herself. Comfortably lying on her back winding her hands through Alistair's hair as he lay with his chin on her thigh reading from a missive delivered that afternoon.

 _"Thus far there have been only vague rumours of Arl Howe's appearances here on the Storm Coast,"_ Alistair read, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. _"Scouts are investigating every possibility, no matter how ambiguous or implausible. If the Arl means to flee Ferelden from this location we will find him first and bring him to face swift justice in the capital."_

Putting the letter to one side, Alistair rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He pressed a soft kiss to Roselyn's hip bone and sighed through his nose. "Not the best news," he mumbled.

"It could worse..." Roselyn trailed her fingers around the shell of his ear. "The letter could have said he had escaped."

"True."

"If he does escape Ferelden, will we still be able to apprehend him?"

Alistair hummed thoughtfully and pursed his lips. "I'm not sure," he admitted leaning up to look at her. "I think we can, given that he is a native of Ferelden, but I don't want to accidently cause insult by stepping on anyone's toes. I'll have Teagan check."

"Good idea," nodded Roselyn. She leaned back into her pillows and stared up at the canopy of their bed. It felt like months since the events of Highever, when in reality it was only a few weeks. She felt older and weary. She longed for nothing more than her family to be avenged and those responsible to be punished for their part. Then, perhaps, life would settle down once more and she and Alistair could focus wholly on the future. Their future and that of Ferelden. The rustle of papers caught her attention and she glanced down to see Alistair opening the seal on another letter. His eyes scanned the words written inside. She watched his mouth draw to one side and an eyebrow quirk on his face and asked, "What is it?"

_"Your Highness, after extensive examination of the bodies exhumed from the remains of Highever castle, I can report the following discoveries:_

_\- Bodies of those men who fought and died for Highever and Teyrn Cousland were given their last rites and burnt, sent to the Maker's side. Any of their belongings that could be salvaged were sent to their next-of-kin where possible._   
_\- Six of the bodies found which bore no sigil or heraldry on their weapons, shields or armor were examined at length by our surgeons._   
_\- Close inspection revealed each man had a coin similar to that the Princess found in the tavern sewn into the collars of their jerkin. Each coin bore the symbol of a great bear backed against a shield. This heraldry, as I am sure you well know, belongs to the Howe family of Amaranthine._

_With this information, it appears irrefutable that Arl Howe was responsible for the massacre of Highever and of the Cousland family._

_If any more details come to light I will write again._

_Your humble servant,  
Aveline Vallen of West Hills."_

Roselyn jerked to sit up and Alistair handed her the letter. She held her breath as she read Aveline's carefully written words. Here was the proof that Arl Howe was involved. He was responsible for the death and carnage. He _must_ have been. Roselyn never doubted he was, not since finding the coin the assassin dropped, but when he was finally found and brought before his peers to be judged, no one would doubt his guilt. It was the proof they needed and the best they had without a man to give them a confession.

"I knew it," she breathed meeting Alistair's gaze. The space behind her nose prickled uncomfortably and her chin quaked. Relief flooded through her veins making her extremities feel cold. Pinching the bridge of her nose she buried her face in the palm of her hand and choked back a small sob. "I mean, I knew... but to have it confirmed in writing. To have the proof..."

Alistair moved up the bed to sit beside her and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her into his chest. He kissed the crown of her head and rocked her slowly, letting her cry while she crumbled the letter in her fingers. Her vision blurred the words as she tried to read them again wanting to imprint them to her mind and never forget them. Arl Howe was the blade that had cut her family down. Arl Howe was why her niece would never see her first name day and why Oren would never partake in his first tourney. Arl Howe was why her mother would not be at her side as she lay in her childbed. It was Arl Howe.

"What do you think Howe's reason was?" Alistair smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her brow.

"I don't know," Roselyn gave a weak shrug of her shoulders. "He was always our ally. Even when Fergus broke the contract to marry his daughter. Once Maric commanded reparations to be made, he and his family were still friendly with mine. If... a little distant."

Alistair sighed and she felt him press his lips to her temple. He stroked his hands up and down her arm. She could almost hear him thinking, considering whether or not to talk. She waited, knowing Alistair would speak when he was ready. That he would say whatever it was that weighed on his mind.

"I overheard Anora and Loghain arguing," he told her very slowly, measuring his words as he said them. "A week ago, before you told me about the baby. I was going to tell you, but I suppose in all the excitement it slipped my mind. I was coming here from the council chamber and used the servant’s passages. I heard them in Anora's rooms, I think."

Roselyn wiped her eyes and tilted her head to look at her husband. "Oh?"

"I only caught the tail end of things. But..." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "Anora mentioned something about Loghain making Howe a promise. And Duncan is of the opinion that Howe doesn't have it in him to do something like attack Highever without the backing of someone more powerful."

"You think Howe and Loghain are working together?"

"I do," Alistair nodded. "I don't know for certain, or why. And there's no proof as yet but... with the assassin in Highever's words, Howe's involvement, and what I overheard, it seems likely."

"Unfortunately overhearing words isn't going to be enough to convince a Landsmeet of Loghain's guilt." Roselyn offered a weak smile and leaned her forehead against Alistair's shoulder. "We would need a written confession from him. Or at the very least someone to speak against him. I doubt he would confess unless forced."

"What about Anora?"

Roselyn shook her head, "I don't think she would speak out against her own father." Raking her fingers through her hair she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "He is one of the few allies she has at court. I don't think she would want to risk his potential execution and her own potential exile. Not while the throne is still at stake."

"Good point," Alistair huffed. After a moment Roselyn felt his palm slide over the soft swell of her belly beneath the shirt she wore. "You know..." She lowered her head to look at him, placing her own hand over his. "With this little one, my claim is stronger than hers."

"I know," she smiled sweetly and dropped slowly onto her back at Alistair's guidance. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and smiled against her lips before shifting down the covers to lie with his head perched on her abdomen.

"Do you think it can hear us?" he wound his fingers over her skin, stroking over her navel and belly button, along the hem of her small clothes and over her hips. He inched her shirt up until her stomach was bare and the minor growth of her belly more obvious. The whiskers of his beard tickled her skin when he kissed over her flesh, grinning up at her with shining honey-brown eyes. Roselyn bit back her laughter and nibbled her bottom lip, watching Alistair continue to kiss and nuzzle her. "Will it know our voices when it's born?"

"I don't know," she answered him, curling his hair around her fingers. "Perhaps."

"Who do you think it will look like? You or me?"

"I don't mind," she tapped the end of his nose with her finger. "I hope it has your nose. I love your nose."

Alistair grinned, "I do have a very handsome nose." He pursed his lips against Roselyn's skin and blew hard creating a trumpeting sound with the air he expelled and his lips. Raucous laughter fell from Roselyn's mouth as she wriggled and fought to get away from him. She braced her hands on his shoulders as he held her fast with a grip around her waist. He did it again and her laughing became wilder. She kicked her legs trying to dislodge his hands and escape. Alistair's laughter joined hers and he started to litter kisses over her belly, the end of his nose sweeping over her skin in the wake of his mouth. "I am so excited to meet you," he spoke directly to the baby, as his laughter subsided his voice soft and husky. "You are going to be so loved. You will never, _ever_ have need to doubt how adored and precious you are."

Roselyn watched him through half-lidded eyes, the weight and sentiment behind his words ringing louder than the words themselves. She had known the unconditional love of her parents. Growing up she never doubted or needed to question how much they loved and cared about her. Even when they fought and disagreed, she was always sure of their love for her.

Alistair grew up never knowing that same sentiment. His early years as a bastard, without mother or father and spurned by those charged with his care, he knew only neglect and coldness. Even after coming to the palace his father was never warm to him and Cailan only saw him as an annoyance, a reminder of Maric's infidelity. He was forever the bastard - the spare - in case something happened to Cailan.

She was always amazed at Alistair's kindness despite the harsh difficulty of his life. He was never cruel or unfair. He was not cynical or unfeeling, though he had every right to be bitter and angry at the world. Hardness was thrown at him yet he remained warm and hopeful and good. He never allowed it to change him and for that she was grateful.

Alistair would be a parent like her own were. He would never allow their child to feel neglected or unloved. They would want for nothing from the moment of their birth and she knew Alistair would be there to hold their hand and pick them up when they fell. He would spoil them and adore them, the way he never was.

Smoothing her hand over his cheek, she stroked her thumb beneath his eye and smiled when he kissed the palm of her hand. He moved up the bed to lie beside her and she welcomed the warm kiss he pressed to her lips with a murmur of contentment.

He brushed his nose over hers when he broke away. "I had a thought," he said after a brief silence.

"Did you?" Roselyn turned onto her side to give him her undivided attention. She smoothed her fingers back through his hair and ran her nails over his scalp. Alistair's eyes flickered closed and a low moan rumbled deep within his chest. "What was this thought?" She kissed the end of his nose.

She relished these moments of privacy and closeness. They could not be so affectionate in public. It was not seen as proper. In their own sanctuary they could be as loving and tender towards each other as they wanted. Roselyn loved it. She loved how all of their intimate and personal affection was kept so private and away from prying eyes. It was just for them and no one else. It made the moments they were more openly affectionate towards each other in court all the more shocking and scandalous.

"We should make an announcement," Alistair explained with a broad smile. "Arrange a celebration, a festival or a fete, something like that, to celebrate the baby." He brushed his nose against Roselyn's. "We shouldn't keep the good news just to ourselves, after all." He bit his bottom lip impishly, and Roselyn was struck by how boyish and mischievous he looked. His enthusiasm and happiness was infectious. Alistair was so excited and enamoured at the prospect of the baby and fatherhood, the only reason the whole of Ferelden did not know yet was because Roselyn made him promise to stay quiet.

She wanted to agree. A baby of any kind was something to be celebrated after all. And in normal circumstances, at any other time, she would be on board with whatever plans Alistair had. Whether it was a tourney in the baby's honour, a masque, or just a day of feasting and revelry for the Kingdom's subjects. But it was not any normal time, and the circumstances in the world around them were not normal. The widow of the crown Prince was vying for the throne and pregnant herself. Her father was a madman, bent on ruling from behind the throne if it went to his daughter and her child. And now her family were dead and an assassin already made an attempt on Roselyn's own life. The Kingdom was in turmoil. To add the announcement of a new child to an already stewing pot - Roselyn feared for herself, for Alistair, and for their child.

"I..." Roselyn sighed, dragging the sound out as she searched for the words to explain herself. She frowned and chewed the corner of her lip thoughtfully. Alistair looked at her expectantly and waited. "I don't know if... making an announcement would be particularly... uhm... sensible. Given the current political climate."

Alistair quirked a brow. "Oh?"

Sitting up, Roselyn cleared her hair over one shoulder and peered down at Alistair. "I'll speak plainly."

"Please do." Alistair sat. He stroked his hands over Roselyn's crossed legs. "Why don't you want people to know?"

"It's not that I don't want people to know," Roselyn rubbed her forehead. "I don't want Loghain or Anora to know. Or anyone close to them."

"Ah..." He nodded slowly.

"If things were different between Anora and I, then maybe I would tell her. But with Loghain around... If what you say is the truth, and Howe is working alongside Loghain or under Loghain's misguiding orders, then it would make sense that the assassin in Highever who tried to poison me was an extension of Loghain himself," said Roselyn, winding her fingers through Alistair's. "It also stands to reason that the order to attack Highever and my family came from Loghain too."

"That makes sense." Alistair agreed. "Although, except for their connection to you, I struggle to see what killing the Cousland family would get Loghain or Howe, if anything."

Roselyn's mouth quirked to one side. "The Cousland family are a -- _were_ very close claimants to the throne. That was why my father was put forward as a possible candidate for the throne at the Landsmeet after Maric died. Our family predates even your own."

"But your father rejected the offer."

"In favour of you. And many of his loyal friends and lords followed him in supporting of your claim over that of Anora. Taking away a stalwart pillar of support like that, I imagine Loghain wanted to both send a message and hoped it would weaken your resolve for the throne."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and huffed, "Makes sense."

Roselyn continued, her brow furrowing in thought, "I don't think he would ever go after your uncle Eamon, despite his own support for you. He is the late Queen's brother after all, and she is still well loved by the people and remembered fondly. If Loghain attacked her kin and was found out, he would lose any love the people still held."

"The Loghain the people remember is a hero. If they saw him as he is now, a paranoid, delusional lunatic I doubt they would hold any affection for him," Alistair's voice grew harsh. 

"He could have gone after my family for a completely different reason, of course," Roselyn mused. "Maric himself said he never expected our marriage to create a formidable pair. Perhaps... Loghain thought disposing of my family would weaken _me_ , and therefore us." She grew quieter, realising that if that was the case the reason her family was dead was because of her. They were cut down to get to her.

As if recognising where her thoughts were going, Alistair slipped his hands around her face and coaxed her to look at him. His expression was severe, earnest, his eyes on hers. "It's not your fault," he told her ardently. "Your family. Highever. It wasn't your fault."

A weak smile flickered across her lips, "Keep telling me that and I might believe you one day."

"Rose..." He curled a tuft of hair around her ear, leaned forward and kissed the space between her brows. "I will keep telling you if I have to."

She chuckled, enjoying the roughness of his lips on her skin, "I don't doubt it."

"It's a good thing Loghain doesn't know you very well," Alistair's voice grew lower.

"How so?"

"Thinking something so heinous would weaken you."

"It almost did," Roselyn murmured. "It almost destroyed me." She knew Alistair was trying to keep her spirits up and take her mind off the thoughts of her family. She appreciated the gesture and his effort, and swallowed hard on the pit in her stomach. "But I'm lucky enough to have you."

"What did I do?"

"You didn't rush me," Roselyn straightened up. "I know I grew distant and that I started to push you away. But you didn't force me to talk or become angry with me. You waited until I was ready. You have no idea how much your patience meant."

"I was only trying to give you the same respect you gave me after Cailan and my father."

Roselyn smiled, pressed a brief kiss to his lips, and reached to the bedside table to get her brush. "My point with Loghain," she continued, "is that I imagine he is trying to get to you. Maybe he thinks if the support for you weakens enough you'll give in. Or he might believe if enough bad things happen people will see it as an omen of some sort. I don't know." She gave a small shrug. "But I think he would do anything to see Anora on the throne."

Alistair climbed off the bed and began to move around the room. Roselyn watched him to go a dresser a pull out a clean shirt. "We have to tell _someone_ about the baby." He shook out the shirt and pulled it on over his head. "If just to see their reaction."

"Who can we trust?" Roselyn looked at him and placed her brush in her lap. "Loghain, Howe, or maybe both conspired to kill me. They sent an assassin to poison me in Highever. The last member of the Cousland family. Do you think Loghain would rest a moment if news spread of me being pregnant?"

Alistair leaned on the dresser, "Probably not."

"I think he would double his efforts. Turn to more drastic and desperate measures. He could call on a another assassin, or a guild of them. He could corner me in the palace and attack me himself." Roselyn tried to keep her voice calm but could feel the rising panic seeping into her words and making her voice crack. Alistair returned to the bed. He took her hands and sat with her, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. "I want to celebrate and I wish we could. It isn't fair that we have to hide this like its some terrible secret..." She breathed hard, feeling her cheeks flush.

"But with Loghain behaving the way he is..."

"I don't want to risk the baby, just to hear people cheering and celebrating for us."

Alistair sucked his teeth for a moment. He tilted his head back, rolling it from side to side as if working out an ache. When he relaxed, he dropped his gaze to Roselyn and sighed, "What about Fiona?"

"Alistair --"

"Hear me out," he interjected. "Fiona has hardly spoken to Loghain. I don't even think he knows who she is. I trust her. She's a mage _and_ a skilled healer. At least if we tell her she can be on hand to help if you need it or there's something worrying you."

Roselyn pulled her mouth to one side. Fiona did seem a trustworthy sort, though the two of them did not speak very often. She was also knowledgeable, and not having her mother to help her, Roselyn knew she needed at least one other woman to tell her what to expect and what was normal. Books could only do so much, if there were any books written on pregnancy; and it was not as if she could venture into the city alone and see the local midwife without alerting the capital to her pregnancy.

"You trust her?" Roselyn queried, slowly lifting a brow.

"I do," Alistair nodded once. He placed one hand over Roselyn's belly. "I would prefer having someone we both know looking after you and the baby in the months to come. Not some stranger."

"I would prefer that, too," she agreed. She placed her own hand over Alistair's. "If you trust Fiona, then so do I."

Alistair positively beamed, the prospect of being able to tell _someone_ their news making his face light up. He kissed Roselyn soundly, grinning against her lip before climbing off the bed again and continuing to change. Roselyn watched him pull on a treated leather vest over his undershirt and he pulled on a thick woollen doublet over that. He changed out of his comfortable cotton breeches into a black leather pair and tugged his boots on either foot.

"Why are you getting dressed? Where are you going at this hour?" asked Roselyn.

"To tell Fiona," Alistair's smiled faltered. "If she's around."

"Why do you need a scabbard if you're going to see Fiona?"

"I might get challenged to a duel," he teased as he fastened his belt.

Roselyn crossed her arms and stared at him in silence. When he ignored her, continuing to ready himself to leave, she coughed loudly to get his attention. "Where are you going?"

"To tell Fiona."

" _Husband_ , _"_ she growled at him. "It's late. She's probably asleep."

"I'll go and check." He started for the door to their bed chamber. Roselyn scrambled off the bed and reached it before he did. She stood with her hands on her hips, lifting her chin to be as challenging and imposing as possible.

"What is going on?" she demanded. "I am pregnant, not stupid. I know when something is off and when you aren't telling me something."

"Me? Not tell you something?" Alistair feigned insult, clutching one hand to his chest and swooning dramatically. "Your words wound me."

"I really _will_ wound you in a minute," Roselyn retorted, shaking her head. She poked him in the chest. "Where are you going?"

Alistair gave a deep sigh, "To the Alienage."

"Now?" Roselyn's brows shot up and she glanced at the window. "It's dark and it's late. Why, in the name of the Maker, are you going to the Alienage?"

"The elves are still going missing," he explained rubbing the back of his neck. "Shianni has decided to use herself as bait to try and find out where they're being taken. I'm to track her, with Duncan and Fiona. Hopefully we'll be able to get to the bottom of all the disappearances."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"I won't be worried. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," Alistair held Roselyn's shoulders. "No. On this I am putting my foot down. None of us know what to expect, there may be fighting. You are not going to put yourself in danger."

"How do you know there'll be danger? You just said you don't know what you'll find." Roselyn quipped back. "Besides, I can help. I can fire a bow. If I'm at a distance –“

"Roselyn," Alistair's voice was hard and cut her off mid-sentence. She relaxed her stance, dropping her arms to her sides and lowering her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to endanger yourself. Or the baby."

"At least take Roo," Roselyn mumbled. "I know she's usually a lap dog, but in a fight she's a true mabari."

Alistair half-smiled, "I'll take her. Thank you." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Try not to worry. This could all be for nothing."

"Don't get hurt."

"I won't." He kissed her forehead again. "I'll try not to wake you when I get back." He stood, checked his sword was in his scabbard and went to the door.

"What if you're not back by the morning?" asked Roselyn, trying to keep the worry from her voice. Alistair turned with the door open.

"I will be."

"But if you're not? What if something happens? If you get hurt or-or--"

"Rosie," Alistair grasped her shoulders in firm but gentle hands.

"I don't like this..." Roselyn muttered dropping her gaze.

"I know you don't."

"Just the four of you. No guards. It's... I don't like it." She pouted a little.

"Try not to worry," Alistair spoke with his lips pressed to her forehead. "I'm not. We're just going to investigate what's happening with the elves disappearing. There's probably a logical explanation for it."

"What if something happens to you?" Roselyn's voice quivered. "I don't want to lose you, too."

Alistair smiled, "You won't." He hooked one hand under her chin and eased her head up until they were looking at each other. "I promise." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, curling a lock of her hair around his fingers and tucking it behind her ear.

"Alistair..." sighed Roselyn, fingers holding to the front of his jerkin.

"I'll send word if I won't be back by the morning. Don't wait up." Another brief kiss, "I love you." He stepped out of her grip and towards the door.

Roselyn lingered by the door watching Alistair call Roo to his side as he left. "Be careful." She leaned against the lintel and winced when the door closed behind him. Winding and rubbing her hands together Roselyn paced back and forth a few times. She stroked her belly in the hopes of distracting herself from the knotting worry gnawing at her gut. Sitting on the bed she stared at the door like a forlorn pup waiting for its master to return. She knew she would not sleep until Alistair returned safely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please comment to let me know!  
> We're on the home stretch for this fic. Exciting times!
> 
> Again, appreciate you taking the time to read. Please let me know if you enjoyed it.


	27. Chapter 16: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair ventures to the Alienage with Fiona, Duncan, and Roo to see if they can find out who is behind the disappearance of the elves. Realising he might be putting his life in danger, Alistair finds himself wondering if this is the best course of action and can't help but compare himself to the stories of his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- All the love in the world to my beta readers who are just awesome and have been immensely supportive of this fic, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr). 
> 
> \- Chapter rating: Teen (mild gore warning)

Alistair had never visited the Alienage late at night, and walking through the gates accompanied by Roo, Duncan, and Fiona he had the distinct feeling he was walking into a completely different place. The darkness made everything look imposing and changed. The buildings seemed taller and there were no glowing lights from candles sneaking through cracks in the windows or under the doors. The bare branches of the vhenadahl stretched up and out, like long, grasping fingers trying to pluck the stars out of the sky. The busy atmosphere he grew accustomed to while working in the Alienage during the day was completely gone. There was no local tavern with songs or audible chatter from inside. Everything was still and silent as they passed the houses and the clinic.

Roo kept close to his side. While Alistair did not want to admit it, the mabari's bulk and body was a comfort to him when he rubbed her ears. The snow on the ground crunched with every foot fall and there was a slight wind making his nose, cheeks, and ears cold. But the sky was cloudless and the moon was full, giving he and his companions enough light to see by.

Fiona led the way through the smaller side streets of the Alienage, knowing the place better than either Duncan or Alistair. She was armed with a staff made of carved birch wood with a rich red crystal at the top which glowed, emitting a soft light. In place of her usual Circle robes, she wore light armour with thin metal plate across her chest. Duncan also swapped his usual clothing for armour and weapons. He carried a long sword and a smaller, curved dagger for his off-hand and shield slung over his back. His armour was a mixture of metal and boiled leather beneath a breast plate which had clearly seen more than a few battles.

Alistair felt underdressed and underprepared next to them. It was clear from the way his companions walked and breathed in the darkness that they had experience in battle and in fighting. All Alistair's experience was from the melee at tournaments, not real combat or fighting to kill. He blanched at that thought. He had never killed anyone before, but knew it was a possibility if they found what or who was responsible for the elves disappearing and they were uncooperative. He did not want to take a life, he _hoped_ things could be resolved peacefully, but he prepared himself as much as possible. If he had to kill to save himself or his friends, then he would. He just hoped, if it came to that, that he would have enough stomach to strike the blow.

Their group slowed as Fiona lifted her free hand to indicate for them to stop. Alistair's breath turned to clouds of white before him as they waited in tense silence. Roo grumbled at his side. Every muscle tense and her body wound, ready to spring. They waited agonizing moments for Fiona to give a signal that it was safe for them to move. In the little light provided by the gem on her staff, Alistair could just make out the look of stern concentration on her face. Her eyes glowed in the gloom, luminous like a cat's. Her features were more defined and appeared sharper from the way the light fell across her face.

Slowly Fiona lowered her hand. Alistair released a breath he was unaware he was holding and the air around him seemed to relax. His boots crunched in the snow and he shifted his kite shield on his back for comfort.

"Shianni said y'd be comin'."

The voice - young, male, and rough - made Alistair jump. He snatched his blade a few inches out of his scabbard, whirling around to face who spoke. The voice's owner was a boy. Tall and lanky with arms and legs that looked too long for the rest of his body. Alistair could only guess the colour of his hair was dark. Like Fiona, his eyes shone and scanned over them before coming to rest on Fiona's familiar face.

Fiona eased passed Duncan and Alistair, "Where is she?"

"Taken," the boy said. "She's bin makin' noise about the missin' elves. I watched some people in hoods take 'er, not an hour ago."

"She didn't call for help?" Alistair asked.

The boy shrugged barely glancing at him. "Took 'er to them old hovels." He pointed across the Alienage at a far corner where there were a handful of older buildings still waiting to be torn down.

"They're empty," said Fiona, following the boy's pointer finger. "Why would they take her there?"

He shrugged and sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "What you goin' t'do?"

"Go after her," Alistair told him without a moment of hesitation. "Go after her and hopefully get to the bottom of what's been going on."

Fiona stepped close to the boy and put her hand on his shoulder. "You should get home where it's safe. Don't tell anyone what you've seen. We don't want this turning into a brawl."

"Elves help their own." The urchin crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "I can help."

Duncan went to Fiona's side. "You can help us by making sure no one follows us. We don't want more people involved in this than necessary."

"If we're not back by dawn go to the palace and ask for Princess Roselyn," Alistair added. He brushed his heel over the ground and wondered whether it would have been better for him to allow Roselyn to come. One more person might make all the difference after all, but with her condition... He ruffled a hand through his hair. No. Her remaining at the palace was for the best. He had to protect her and their child. "She knows we're here and what we're doing. She'll assemble guards to come and look for us."

The boy sniffed once again, "Awight."

Without another word he took off at a run through the alleyway between two houses. His steps were muffled by the snow and he all but completely vanished into the gloom of the night. Alistair took point with Roo, leading Duncan and Fiona through the Alienage in almost total silence but for their breathing.

The buildings the boy pointed to were abandoned hovels that were destroyed in the storms of the previous year. No one decided yet what to do with the buildings or the space they took up. They were not a priority in the Alienage's redesign and Alistair paid them little mind. Now he thought he should have focused on them first. If he had, perhaps the elves wouldn't have disappeared. He wanted to hope those that were missing were alive, but it was unlikely. A failure on his part to act quickly enough to do anything.

The wood was rotten and smelled musty. The windows were barred with wooden planks nailed across to prevent entry and the doorways were the same. The buildings were attached to each other and not very tall. The roof was caved in on the central building and the old beams seemed to creak out loud at the approach of Alistair and his group.

Alistair kept his eyes low, looking for tracks or any sign that someone had been by. The fresh snowfall made it almost impossible to see any previous disturbances, and the lack of light did not make things any easier. Duncan and Fiona split off from Alistair and Roo, the four of them all starting to look for an entry without needing to tell each other. They ventured around one side of the building. Fiona tapped the head of her staff along the wall, listening for a hollow sound or a weakness in construction. Duncan tried the beams covering the doors and windows, testing them for any sign of being loose or moved regularly and replaced.

Walking around his side once, then back again, Alistair puffed his cheeks out growing frustrated. He fiddled with the hilt of his sword, sliding the blade in and out of the scabbard so the frost did not take and make the blade stick. Fiona and Duncan had disappeared from view. He could still hear Roo snuffling about, but could not see her. He felt quite cold and alone. His skin prickled under his leather and armour and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when a gust of wind blew over him and chilled his skin. The wind made the long branches of the vehnadahl creak and clatter softly against each other and somewhere he heard wind chimes. The shadow of the branches made Alistair think of twisted, gnarled fingers trying to pinch and grab him.

_Get a grip, Alistair,_ he chided himself. He was afraid. He was not ashamed to admit it, for it was the truth. He was afraid of what he and the others might find. If they found anything at all. He was worried he would be forced into combat and into shedding blood. He was afraid for himself too. Would he come out of this alive if they were met with resistance? Would Duncan and Fiona and Roo? Were they walking into a trap of Loghain's making?

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, exhaling deeply into his palm. He smelled the leather of his glove and tried to focus on that scent. Roo chuffed nearby and he vaguely heard the scratch of her paws on something. When he did not move fast enough for her, she trotted to him and grabbed his free hand in her maw tugging at him.

"Alright Roo," he went with the hound. "What have you found?"

Alistair thought the hound might have caught the smell of a rabbit, or found a stick with which to play fetch. Despite Roselyn's insistence he had never witnessed Roo be anything more than an oversized lap dog and he strongly doubted her mabari instincts would show themselves here. He considered himself corrected when he saw what Roo wanted him to.

With her massive paws and her nose she dug away at the snow pushing it this way and that until Alistair could clearly see a door. A door to a cellar. He dropped to one knee to examine the door closer. It was old, likely made of iron and there was rust on the handles. Removing one glove he ran his fingers over the hinges on the left door only to remove them when his fingertips were coated in a slimy substance. Fresh oil on the hinges so the door moved in silence.

Alistair pulled his glove back on. "Good girl, Roo." He rubbed the dog's head. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and she followed him when he went to fetch Duncan and Fiona. He showed them the door and without question they agreed it likely the only way in. Duncan tried the handles, only to find the cellar locked and barred from the other side. He swung his shield off his back and using the curved point at the bottom of the kite shape was able to bash and dent the door until it would open.

If it was dark outside, the cellar introduced Alistair to a new meaning of the word. It was pitch black inside. He had to feel his way down the small steps to the room below. It smelled musty, old, and mouldy. Structural beams had fallen from the ceiling, creating something of an obstacle course to move around. Once inside, Fiona increased the glow of the crystal on her staff to give a little more light and Duncan closed the cellar door behind them.

"It's just a cellar," Alistair remarked in a whisper after walking around as much as the haphazard beams would allow him to. It was a big cellar to be sure, with fine flagstones on the floor and rusted sconces on the walls, but a cellar none-the-less.

"Don't be so hasty," Duncan said in his deep tone. He dropped down into a squat. "Fiona, a little light, if you please?"

Fiona rubbed her hands together and a moment later Alistair watched a glowing sphere of light ascend from within the palm of her hand and float there. She went to Duncan and dropped down to his level.

Alistair watched Duncan run his hand over the floor and examine his fingers after doing so. Duncan squinted, his mouth drawing into a line of concentration and he stepped lightly over the ground following something with narrowed eyes that Alistair could not see. Waited patiently, Alistair watched Duncan examine the floor remaining stationary and silent with Roo beside him. Above them, the wind blew through the broken roof and unseen holes creating a forlorn, wailing groan which did little to quell the sense of fear and dread Alistair could feel creeping up his spine. It was as if spirits from the Fade were crying out with warnings. He felt cold sweat on his forehead and in the palms of his hands. He wondered if Roselyn was asleep yet, or if she was awake, pacing and worrying herself sick over him. He wanted nothing more than to be in their bed with her, safe, warm, and thinking about the future. But he had promised Shianni, and he would not go back on his word. Not when it was likely she was now in danger.

"Here," Duncan called to him quietly and his voice broke Alistair from his thoughts of a warm, safe bed. He stood between one wall and another, half hidden with his hand on a section which opened away from the room.

"A hidden door..." Alistair remarked approaching. "How did you know?"

"The dust on the floor was disturbed," Duncan explained with a small smile. "And the mechanism for this is not complicated."

Alistair clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, Duncan," he grinned.

The door opened on a narrow set of stairs which went further down underneath the hovel. It was dark, but Alistair could make out a faint sliver of light shining from beneath what was probably a door far at the bottom. Roo sniffed the air and ventured down a small way. She growled, muscles tensing and Alistair unsheathed his sword.

"Duncan, will the door stay open?"

"I can find something to stop it closing behind us." He grabbed a large stone near his foot and placed it against the hinges to hold the door where it was. Afterwards, he withdrew his long sword and his curved dagger. The ball of light in Fiona's hand was replaced by a crackle of ice climbing up her arm and engulfing her hand.

"I'll take point," Alistair said, beginning to lead the way down the stairs. "I just hope there aren't any traps."

"Hopefully I'll spot them before you trigger any of them, Alistair," Duncan replied. Fiona followed Alistair and Duncan brought up the rear. Roo walked beside Alistair down the stairs, her paws totally silent on each one.

The further down they ventured the colder it became and the more earthy the smell. Sweat trickled down Alistair's back and over his neck. It tickled and made him wriggle with annoyance until the drops soaked into his undershirt. He did not want his companions to see him fearful and worried. He did not want to be a coward. Not the son of Maric the Warrior King. He wanted to be like his father in that regard; a man who never blanched in the face of blood or battle and who relished a fights and won them.

His father was a hard man to live up to. He could not recall seeing Maric show fear at anything. Not in the face of Shianni's arrow, or when the elves started to mob them in the Alienage. Not during tourneys when he used to compete, or when confronted by a hissing, spitting noble who felt wronged. Maric was a man who was unflappable. A man who was strong and stoic, who Alistair always wanted to please and live up to. He wondered what his father would think of him now, leading his old companions down into the depths of the Alienage beneath Denerim armed with a sword and silently praying they would all make it out alive. Would he be proud of him? Of his foolish bravery and his idiotic courage? Or would he be ashamed of the fear Alistair was feeling? Disappointed that he was going with others and not facing the danger alone?

He tried not to think of it - his father's face looming over him and judging his every move, or of his father's voice, booming and laughing in the midst of tourneys. Maric's war days were over long before Alistair was born, but he knew the tales and the songs of his father's exploits. He read the stories in the history books. His father chased the Orlesians out of Ferelden - practically singlehanded if some of the bards were to be believed. There were handfuls of skirmishes and then a huge battle between the Ferelden army and Orlais. Maric was at the forefront of it all, leading the charge on a glistening white steed in burnished gold armour. The stories and the songs all spoke of how the sun glinted of Maric's breastplate and blinded the Orlesians like Andraste's holy fire.

How could anyone live up to such a man or such tales?

The door at the base of the steps was unlocked and it opened into a long corridor when Alistair nudged it. The light came from lit sconces on the wall, illuminating the narrow passage. The walls were damp and shone in the firelight, the floor too had small puddles where freezing condensation dripped from the ceiling.

Alistair walked slowly, carefully placing one foot after the other and wary of any potential danger. He did not want to return to the palace bleeding, missing a limb, a finger, or covered in burns. Their progress was slow, but Alistair preferred that to injury. They were lucky that the passage was just one long corridor. There were no doors or other halls that veered off in other directions that they could get lost in or that needed exploring. It was a straight walk down the winding hallway, turning the corners as they came.

"What do you suppose this was used for?" Alistair asked in a whisper after he and the other had been walking for some time. He was curious and had his own ideas. After all, the passage was sturdy and built with purpose. It was not simply a tunnel dug out of the earth.

"Smuggling, perhaps," suggested Duncan. "In a time long before the Alienage was built or perhaps even before Denerim was as big as she is now."

"Do you think anyone in the Alienage knew this passage was here?"

"I would not have thought so," said Fiona. "Or if someone did find out about it, I doubt they would have told anyone."

Alistair stopped and turned back, "Why?"

"A number of reasons." Fiona stood straight. "They might have wanted to use the tunnel for their own gain. Perhaps they worried spreading word of it could mean danger for them and their kin. Likely they believed that it was forgotten about and no longer in use."

"Until someone found a use for it again," sighed Duncan. "I hope we find Shianni and the answers to our questions at the end of the tunnel. The sooner the better." Alistair watched him shudder when a drop of water dripped onto his head.

Fiona chuckled a little, "I forgot how much you hate being underground."

"That's a surprise," Alistair looked at the other man. "Why don't you like being underground?"

Duncan and Fiona exchanged brief glances, before Duncan looked back at Alistair. "Did your father ever explain how he knew us?"

"No," shrugged Alistair. He resumed walking as they spoke. "I assume that was something he was going to tell me when he returned from Orlais... among other things."

"What other things?"

"He was going to tell me about my mother," he answered glancing briefly over his shoulder. "How did you know Maric?"

"Loghain was there to help him with ending the Orlesian occupation, that's true," Duncan began to explain. "But Fiona and I were there also, though we did not play such large parts as Loghain did. We did not get to know your father well until several years later. He asked that we accompany him on an expedition into the Deep Roads to look for a relic belonging to King Calenhad which was lost."

"The shield," Alistair said. "I've seen it. It's locked in the treasury."

"The very same," continued Duncan. "Fiona and I were both Grey Wardens. We could sense Darkspawn before they arrived and knew the area Maric believed the relic was located in. Extra precautions were taken given that Maric was the King, but we were a small party - safer for traversing the Deep Roads and not drawing attention. There was Maric, myself, Loghain, Fiona, and four of Maric's most experienced guards."

"No Rowan?" asked Alistair.

"She remained in Denerim as regent, with Cailan." Duncan explained.

"And you say you _were_ Grey Wardens?" Alistair continued walking, speaking only and only casting a cursory glance back at his companions as he spoke.

"I still am," Duncan replied. "But Fiona..."

"I was expelled from the Grey Wardens when I lost the Taint," she said after a delayed pause. "The Taint is what allows a Grey Warden to sense Darkspawn. Without it you cannot be one."

Alistair stopped and looked at her. "How did you lose the Taint?" he asked, lifting a brow. "I didn't think there was a cure."

"There is no known cure," she replied, her face cool and still, her voice betraying no emotion.

"So how did you...?"

"I am not sure, Your Highness," she replied with a cold tone. "One day it was simply gone from my blood. The Grey Wardens have no use for a Warden who cannot sense Darkspawn and I was expelled from the Order and returned to the Circle where I was initially recruited."

"Oh," Alistair's cheeks bloomed with heat and that same warmth stung his ears. He turned and continued down the passage, feeling foolish and uneasy. Clearly the Grey Wardens were a sensitive subject for Fiona, and he did not want to press the matter. "I bet he was just like Cailan," he said after a brief silence. "Brash, and overconfident."

"At times." Duncan admitted. "But he had moments where he was unsure of himself. Where he was afraid and his confidence took a blow. He was like anyone. Human and flawed, and someone who made mistakes. You are more like him than you might think."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not," Alistair snorted softly. "The way he behaved, you would think he never made a mistake in his life."

"I believe he hid much of the anguish he felt because it was expected of him," Duncan said. His words were slow and deliberate, as if he chose each one carefully before he said it. "He appeared confident and... gregarious, but I think he kept a lot of his unhappiness hidden away. I know for certain he deeply regretted the way he left things with your mother."

"My mother?" Alistair turned sharply. "You knew her?"

"Is now really the time for this conversation?" Fiona demanded with a sharpness to her voice which did not suit it. "Duncan, stop distracting him." Her eyes were practically burning when she turned them on Duncan.

"I ... did not know her." Duncan told Alistair, his eyes lingering on Fiona before moving to Alistair's face. Alistair tried to conceal his disappointment. "But Maric told me about her once or twice."

"I see," Alistair resumed leading the group. "He never told me anything about her. My uncle Eamon told me she was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, that she gave me up, and that she was an elf. That's all I know about her."

"Perhaps that's all you need to know," Fiona remarked. "There is little sense in dwelling on the past."

"I know," sighed Alistair. "Especially when I have so much to focus on in the future."

"Meaning?" Fiona inquired.

He smiled a little and straightened, "Now probably isn't the ideal time to tell you, but--"

Fiona nodded curtly and cut him off, "Very well. Later then."

No one spoke after that. The air between the three of them felt tense and heavy. Occasionally Alistair glanced back at Fiona to see her with a hard expression on her face and Duncan wearing a troubled frown. They did not look at each other and Alistair got the distinct impression neither of them would talk even if he changed the subject. Instead he focused on walking and listening for voices or noise that might give some indication of their location. Roo padded quietly at his side. Alistair was surprised by how quiet she was, given her size. He wondered if she realised the severity of the situation and was controlling her emotions just as he was. When they returned to the palace he was sure she would revert back to the giant lap dog she was, but for now she was tense, with every muscle rippling under her short fur. He wished he had taken time to draw a kaddis on her, if only to make her look more indimidating.

The corridor seemed to go on and on endlessly, turning left, then right, then left again until it carried on straight. The only sign they might be reaching an end was the occasional brief gust of wind that blew into Alistair's face. The smell of the place began to change. The deep, musky earth smell slowly giving way to something sharper and salty. The flames in the wall sconces grew smaller and flickered when the wind blew, and when Alistair concentrated he could hear the distinct sound of waves.

"I think we're near the docks," he said softly, raising a hand to stop his companions.

"I agree," Duncan spoke. "I believe we may be nearing where this passage lets out."

"I hope whatever is at the end is friendly."

"Weapons at the ready," Fiona motioned with her staff to the shield slung across Alistair's back. "Just in case."

He took his shield and fastened it to his left forearm, then clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. His palms were sweaty in his gloves and he tightened his grip, worried his sword might slip from his grasp.

With slow measured steps they continued along the passage until it opened out. Alistair peered into the open space beyond. His eyes widened at the sight before him. Cages, dozens of them, narrow and stout crammed full to bursting with elves in rags. Men armed with swords were guarding the cages and grabbing up elves one at a time to load onto a small rowing boat which was lashed to a jetty, bobbing up and down on the tide. Their armour was minimal, something Alistair was grateful for. It left weak spots, like their necks exposed. One man had Shianni, bound and hoisted onto his shoulder. She was limp and still. Alistair hoped she was only knocked out and not dead.

Alistair counted twelve people. Eleven in armour and one in mage robes with a knotted sylvanwood staff. He stood with the man who appeared to be in charge, whose back was facing Alistair and was letting the mage bark orders. From the mage's accent and the decor of the robes, Alistair knew he was not from Ferelden.

"By the Maker..." whispered Fiona peeping around Alistair's body to see the scene. "Slavers. From Tevinter."

"We are vastly outnumbered," Duncan said. "We should return with re-enforcements.."

"They could be gone by the time we leave and come back," argued Alistair. "We need to strike now."

"Alistair --"

"I agree with Alistair," Fiona interjected. "The elves are being held hostage and who knows how many have already been transported from their homeland. We cannot hesitate."

Duncan glanced between them both and then his gaze go to the captive elves. He relinquished within a moment and sighed. "I presume you have a plan?" he looked pointedly at Fiona.

"If we remove the majority of guards, keep the mage's attention on me it will give us more of a chance to obtain victory," she explained. "If we can relieve one of the guards of keys then give them to the captive elves, they can free themselves and join the fray."

" _That_ is your plan?" Duncan hissed.

Alistair's mouth quirked to one side, "It's the best and only one we have." Duncan turned his curved dagger around in his hand, a heavy breath pushing passed his lips. Alistair nudged Roo with the toe of his boot. "Ready, girl?" She looked up at him and then out to the underground dock. Alistair watched her crouch and begin to inch forward, her lips quivering in a snarl.

Squeezing the hilt of his sword and checking his shield was secure on his arm, Alistair fought to ignore the worry and fear clutching to his chest and clawing at his stomach. He could not think of the consequences if they did not make it out of this alive. It was not just his life he was risking, but Fiona's, Duncan's, and Roo's. The elves were at risk too, Shianni and her kin. If they failed they would all likely die. He did not want to die. He wanted to return to the palace in one piece. He wanted to gain peace in Ferelden and be there for his wife and child. If he died here, he would be leaving Roselyn a widow, his child fatherless, and Ferelden in the grip of a tyrant. He could not die. He _would not_ die. He would be victorious and he would live.

For himself.

For his family.

For Ferelden.

Forcing his fear down and summoning up what courage he could, Alistair pushed his foot down into the stone floor and charged with a bellow. Roo ran with him, a deep howl resonating from within her. A dagger flew past Alistair's head thrown by Duncan. The sharp point embedded itself into the back on one guards neck and he toppled forward, limp.

The noise Alistair and Roo made surprised the other men on the dock. Several turned, hands groping for their weapons, blasts of ice shot passed Alistair freezing their hands to their scabbards. The air grew cold in the wake of Fiona's spell and Alistair leapt from a top step, plunging his blade without thinking into the throat of one guard as he knocked him to the floor.

The gurgling sound the guard made as Alistair pulled his blade back made his stomach turn. Blood spilled out of the wound and out onto the stones of the dock. The guard tried to breathe through the blood flooding his throat and mouth until he breathed his last. Alistair had no time to focus on the remorse he felt, not with adrenaline pulsing through his veins making him aware and alert for the other dangers around him.

He spotted Roo a few feet away. A guard was pinned beneath her bulk, her jaws around his throat and blood coating her maw. Duncan was across the dock fending off two guards. Alistair got to his feet and saw Duncan's dagger crack through the eye socket of one man and through the back of his skull. The image made him feel sick. He took a deep gulp of air and swung his shield at an incoming sword, fending off the weapon. Putting his strength behind his shield, he shoved and lunged forward with his blade.

Steel kissed steel, creating sparks where the blades hissed against each other. Someone roared. Alistair glanced back to see another guard approaching him. He lurched onto his back foot, bringing his sword up in time to fend off another blow. Somewhere, Roo howled and he could hear Duncan grunting. Fiona's spells shot through the air. Razor sharp blades of ice cutting through limbs and sealing the wounds with its cold. Lightning crackled from her staff and bounced through the air, forcing those caught in it to contort into unnatural shapes.

Alistair pushed back with his shield against a swing from the guard who attacked him. He drew his blade down in a flourish and the first guard dodged to one side. The second came from behind. There was a sharp burning pain across his back and right shoulder. His sword arm sagged and he knew he was bleeding from an injury. Steeling himself, he bellowed while ramming his shield into the face of the first guard before him. Once, twice, the guard staggered back. Alistair pursued. There was a sickening crack as his blade cleaved through the man's skull. The man’s blade fell to the floor.

Unable to pause, Alistair whirled on his heel. A pain shot up his leg from the awkward angle of his ankle and he breathed through it. He brought his shield across his face to fend off a sword blow. The guard attacking screamed in pain and Alistair watched him tumble forward with Roo on his back. Her strong jaw closed around the back of his neck and she tore at his flesh.

"Alistair, the keys!" Fiona shouted from the top of the steps. She downed a lyrium potion, tossed the bottle to one side and slammed the head of her staff into an approaching guard sending him reeling back clutching his nose. Clapping her hands together a tremendous bolt of lightning crackled from her staff and it seemed to make the ground shake. The guard dropped to the ground, smoking and charred. Another blast of ice shot from her hands throwing one of the men attacking Duncan off the dock into the freezing water.

A ring of keys hung from a guard’s belt. Alistair reached for it, pausing a moment when he saw his gloves were coated in thick blood and he noticed the stench of iron and copper in the air for the first time. His stomach turned. He had taken life and not even thought about it. For all he knew these men he killed had families and were only doing what they were doing to put bread on the table. Regret bubbled up inside him, but he could not focus on his remorse for these unknown faces now. Later. He could mourn them later. Now he had to get the keys. Save the elves. Save Shianni.

He cut the keys from the dead guard’s belt. Reaching for them, he was suddenly in agony and screamed. His muscles contracted unnaturally and it felt as if all the air was being forced from his body. His skin felt too tight on him, his nerves twisting and knotting inside him. His eyes watered and as he forced himself to move, he dropped to the ground with a yowl.

Magic. He was caged, immobilized by magic. This was what it felt like. Agonizing, horrendous, intense. The worst physical pain he had ever experienced. All his senses were dulled by the pain racing through him. He thought he heard someone shout his name but his hearing was utterly gone. His blood pulsed in his ear, deafening him. He could not draw breath. Could not think. His sight grew hazy. His chest constricted. He was suffocating, choking, his body contorting unnaturally. He could feel his heart beginning to slow. Feet came into view, armoured and the sound of them hitting the ground was a heavy thud. Alistair tried to lift his head to see who was approaching but even blinking was wracking his body with pain. He wanted to look the man who was going to kill him in the eyes at the very least.

Ignoring the tearing sensation of his muscles and his skin he forced himself to move. His fingers  curled around the hilt of his sword and his neck ached as he tried to lift his head. He gasped through the tightness around his body, an invisible fist squeezing the life out of him. His vision was blurred, his cheeks were damp with sweat. He saw the face. Cold eyes, a hooked nose and greying hair. The sigil of a bear on a dark blue field emblazoned on his breastplate.

_Howe._

The sword Howe held came down in a slow motion arc. Alistair braced himself for the blow, then suddenly he could breathe. The force of the magic cage was gone and air was filling his chest. On instinct he lifted his shield to block Howe's blade and staggered to his feet ignoring the bite of pain that shot through his forearm. A brief glance across the dock and he saw who was responsible for his timely rescue. Shianni was kneeling on the back of the mage, dagger in hand and blood spatter on her face and in her hair. She had a cut across her forehead and a bruise on her cheek. They locked gazes momentarily, a brief look of respect and appreciation before Shianni scrabbled over the corpses for the keys and Alistair shoved his weight into his shield, sending Howe stumbling backwards.

On shaking legs, Alistair forced Howe further and further back with each clash of their blades. Howe was armed with a dagger and long sword. Alistair blocked the blows, fighting through the white hot pain when the dagger cut through his upper left arm and the sword sliced his thigh. His youth made him stronger, his stamina kept him fighting longer. Howe sagged under the strain of battle. Alistair's focus was entirely on the Arl of Amaranthine. Around him the remaining guards were dropping to Duncan's blades, Roo's jaws or Fiona's magic, but Howe was his. Howe was Roselyn's.

A final blow from his shield into Howe's face sent the older man staggering backwards into the cages of elves. Arms reached through the iron bars and pinned Howe against the metal, grabbing and tearing at his clothes, keeping him in place even as he struggled and swore. Alistair took the sword and dagger from Howe's hands and threw them across the dock well out of reach.

"Arl Howe," Alistair growled, tasting blood in his mouth, "we've been looking for you." Blood was spilling down Howe's face from his nose, and it looked as though a tooth or two was gone from where Alistair bashed him with his shield.   
  
"Y-Your Highness--"

"Save your grovelling," snarled Alistair, bringing the tip of his blade to Howe's throat. "You deserve to die for what you did to my wife's family and to Highever."

"I was acting under orders."

"I'm sure you were," Alistair sheathed his sword and glanced back towards his companions. Duncan's armour was covered in blood but he was unhurt, checking the bodies to make sure they were dead. Fiona breathed heavily and leaned against the wall for support, weak from her magic usage, and Roo was licking the blood from her paws. Nearby Shianni was unlocking the first cage of captive elves. "Duncan?"

"Your Highness?" Duncan came to Alistair's side.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to bind Arl Howe and be his escort back to the palace dungeons. I will want to speak to him in the morning. Check him for any poison capsules. He does not deserve an easy way out or for his crimes to go unanswered." Alistair spoke to Duncan, but his gaze never left Howe's face. The colour drained from the Arl's cheeks turning him grey. With a nod, Duncan set about finding something to bind Howe's hands with and Alistair went to Fiona. "Are you alright?" He asked her placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Fine, Your Highness," she offered a weak smile. "It's been some time since I was in a battle and I am not as young as I once was." Slowly, Fiona stood up straight. "Are you injured?"

"Only minor ones." He brushed off the dull ache from the gashes on his leg, arm, and across his shoulder.

"Let me see." Fiona straightened.

"Really, I--"

"Let me see." She said more firmly.

Alistair did not argue again. He indicated to where his injuries were. Fiona was quick to act, placing her hands on his shoulder first. From her palms a cooling green-blue glow began to ebb filling the muscles around the wound with a tingling sensation. Having never been magically healed, the experience was an odd one. Alistair could feel his skin knitting together, his nerves all buzzing beneath his skin. It almost tickled and Alistair forced himself not to squirm.

When she was finished healing his leg, Fiona quickly drank down a lyrium potion she took from a pouch around her waist. She was panting and her forehead glistened with sweat. "Are you strong enough to check on the elves? Heal any wounds they might have?" Alistair asked her, reluctant to do so. She'd already done so much and exerted herself. He felt guilty. She should have saved her abilities for the elves who needed it.

"Of course." She brushed passed him, going to Shianni's aid with unlocking the cages containing the elves. Alistair watched Duncan tying Howe's hands behind his back with rope, and Fiona beginning to examine each elf once the cage gates were open and they were free from their confines. Shianni approached him after a few minutes and stood at his side in silence. They glanced at each other. Shianni smiled, grateful and quiet, but said nothing. Alistair did the same. There was nothing to be said.

After all the elves were freed and Fiona had checked them over, Alistair returned to the palace with his companions and his captive. He saw Howe into a cell in the dungeons with Duncan before bidding his friend goodnight and returned to his quarters with Roo.

His body ached with every step and the call of sleep grew stronger the closer he got to the room he shared with Roselyn. He closed the door to their bedchamber as quietly as he was able and was relieved to see several candles still lit. Roselyn was asleep on one side of the bed, lying on her side half in and half out of the covers. Roo climbed on top of the covers and flopped along the foot of the bed, returning to her true lapdog form.  Alistair went about removing his armour and soiled clothing as carefully and quietly as possible. His muscles complained with every over reach and stretch and Alistair fought to bite back his groans of pain.

Examining the wounds on his leg and arm he saw they were both about four inches long but Fiona's magic had sealed them completely, leaving pink scars in their place. He washed them both with water from the basin in the corner and smothered them in elfroot salve to be thorough. He did not doubt Fiona's magic healed them fully, but believed some traditional healing might finish anything her magic did not accomplish. The gash across his shoulder was the worst of the three, a long wound that seemed to burn with every move. He tried to examine it as close as possible in a mirror but the angle was awkward. Fiona's magic healed it, but it was still raw and the skin around it was hot to the touch. He washed it clumsily with a cloth and smeared the same salve on it. He would ask one of the healers to look at it more closely in the morning, just to be safe.

After pulling on a pair of loose cotton breeches and covering his wounds with feeble bandages he climbed into bed after extinguishing the candles and curled himself around Roselyn's body. He laid the flat of his hand over her belly protectively and kissed the back of her neck. She shifted, her left hand resting atop his, her fingers lacing between his own. His breath shuddered when it left him and he squeezed his eyes closed trying to banish the sounds of the past few hours from his mind.

He had taken life, and that would never sit right with him. He could still hear the gurgle of the first guard, the sound as he choked on the blood as it pooled in his throat. He could hear the horrid crack of bone breaking when he cleaved a man's skull in two. The shouts and yells of pain. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he could hear someone begging for their life. Had that happened? Or was it simply his imagination? There had been no other option open to him. His hand had been forced in this instance, and he hoped he would not have to experience that again.

Roselyn shifted in his arms and rolled onto her other side, facing him. When her hand came up to cup his cheek he gasped and held her hand to his face. He kissed her palm and drew himself closer to her. The pad of her thumb brushed the corner of his eye. As Roselyn enveloped him in her arms and her warmth saying nothing, Alistair gulped back regret and trauma of the night hoping sleep would banish it all from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading you guys, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry if the fighting wasn't great, unfortunately battles are not my forte. But, thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think in comments. Just throw me your feedback. <33   
> The next chapter will be up soon.


	28. Chapter 17: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month since Howe was captured in the Alienage and imprisoned; he has been questioned over and over, and Roselyn finds she is uneasy having the murderer of her family under the same roof. It's not clear if Howe's evidence alone will be enough to condemn Loghain, but an unexpected request on Roselyn may be the edge she and Alistair need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen
> 
> As always, kudos and appreciation to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr).

_Three weeks later  
End of Guardian_

_\--_

The news of Arl Howe's arrest and incarceration spread through the palace and was common knowledge in a matter of days. Rumour and gossip accompanied every word with each iteration more outlandish than the next. No one, save for select few people, knew the true reason for the Arl's imprisonment and Alistair was content to allow rumours to fly and build. Arl Eamon arrived from Redcliffe barely a week after Howe was arrested. He, Duncan, and Teagan spent much time in the dungeon every day with Howe, questioning him over and over again.

Roselyn noticed Loghain looked uneasy when he first heard the news. It was Alistair's idea to tell the Teyrn himself so they could gauge his reaction. Loghain may have been a master of concealing his emotions and his feelings, but when he was told of Howe and the circumstances in which he was found Roselyn saw a flicker of... _something_ flash across his face. Fear or unease. She noticed how he swallowed and how it took him a few moments to choke out a response of vague but polite interest.

She half expected Loghain to flee from the palace now his accomplice was slowly being broken down. It would only be a matter of time before the truth spilled out of him after all. Roselyn did not ask what methods of questioning Teagan and the others were using. The truth was, she did not want to know. She found the idea of torture barbaric but recognized that it might be the only way to get Howe to speak. Alistair told her he had scouts and noblemen loyal to him searching for Howe's family. He hoped they could be used at leverage for a full confession.

Roselyn felt uneasy with both Howe and Loghain in the palace. Given her delicate situation and the fact that the two men responsible for the death of her family under the same roof, she was filled with dread and worried that the two men would be able to meet and talk in secret. She was assured over and over by Alistair, Duncan, and Teagan that Howe was kept under heavy guard when he was not being questioned and they were under strict orders to not allow anyone but a select few people near Howe. The guards were ordered to detain Loghain should he try to reach out to Howe. They tried to tell her she was safe. Of course none of them mentioned the child she carried and how she worried for its safety. Only Alistair promised her when they were alone that she and the baby were not going to be harmed; that they were in no danger.

He sounded so sure and confident she wanted to believe him, and sometimes she could. But there was always that underlying sense of fear. Loghain knew. She was certain he did. Something about the way his gaze lingered on her when he thought she was not looking. It was unnerving and always made a cold shudder rush up Roselyn's spine. He must have known she was pregnant. She was beginning to display many of the signs Oriana had shown while pregnant with Frances. Roselyn’s gowns were getting tighter as her belly grew. She retired to her and Alistair's room more often to rest. Her appetite was changing daily, and try and she might she could never stop her hands from going to lay over the growing bump whenever she felt worried.

Loghain must have known and that caused Roselyn to wonder if Anora knew. Anora disappeared from the public eye not long after Howe's arrest. Roselyn believed it was due to the baby. Anora was fit to burst the last time she saw her and she could only assume the baby was due to be born any day. No doubt _that_ was a day Loghain was eagerly awaiting. When the child was born, he could crow and state that _now_ Anora's claim for the throne was the stronger one. If that happened then she and Alistair would have no choice but to make her pregnancy public.

It was all such a mess and thinking of it only made Roselyn weary of the whole intrigue. She wanted the vying and competing for the throne to be done with. She wanted to be able to sleep without wondering if she would awaken to a shadow looming over her armed with a blade. She wanted to be able to celebrate and openly focus on herself and the baby. In the excitement of Howe's arrest, Alistair had neglected to tell Fiona the news as he had intended to. And his mind was so distracted in the weeks that followed he had yet to tell her, so Roselyn was still faced with all the changes she was experiencing alone.

And the changes were vast. She never expected pregnancy to be easy and she knew she would experience physical changes, but everything else was a shock and a new battlefield for her to carefully navigate. The changes in her emotions, how she could swing from happiness to anger in a few seconds, and the almost constant discomfort. When she was dressed her clothes were too tight and the fabric itched. When she was in bed she struggled to find a position where her body did not complain or ache; a task not helped by the growing swell of her belly. Her back caused her daily pain and occasionally she was hit with intense bouts of nausea which had her excusing herself and retching until her throat was sore.

She soldiered through it, complaining as little as possible. She knew Alistair was distracted and had enough on his mind without her complaints adding to his list of problems. Alistair still somehow knew when things weren't right though, as well as whenever she needed comfort and a sympathetic ear. Whenever Roselyn felt at her wits end, Alistair would take some time away from his other preoccupations to simply sit with her. He coaxed out the things that worried her and caused her pain. He soothed her when she cried for some stupid reason that really made no sense, and did not begrudge the times she got angry with him. Roselyn was certain she would have broken down long ago without Alistair offering a sturdy shoulder and support. She was grateful to him for his patience, and hoped he knew that through all the angry and tearful words spoken she was happy.

That happiness only increased when Roselyn felt what she believed to be the first signs of movement from the infant she carried. Lounging back in a warm bath, the sensation was like a fluttering in her belly that came from nowhere but had her jerking up in the water, her hands clasped to her abdomen in surprise. She knew from Oriana's pregnancy that she might feel the child move, but nothing could have prepared her for it. A movement so subtle and strange that Roselyn was not sure what she felt at first. If it was just her imagination or if she truly had felt something. But the possibility excited her.

After waiting a few moments for something else to happen, she relaxed back in the tub peering down at her hands underneath the water. She breathed slowly, dangling her head back over the edge of the bath and willing her body to relax. She felt it a second time a few seconds later, although it was something less like a fluttering and more like a jab or a poke in the side, like a stitch after running. Water sloshed over the side of the bath when Roselyn sat up clasping her hands over her belly.

"Alistair!" she called for him, getting to her feet and grabbing a robe that hung over the top of a sliding screen. She slipped the garment on over her wet skin, dripping small puddles around her feet. "Alistair!" She tied the robe around her waist and moved from where the bath was out into their sleeping quarters. She expected to find him there, poring over documents on their bed, a sight she was growing used to. It was empty, no sign of her husband except for a single candle left on a small table on his side on the bed.

She crossed to the door into the presence chamber, pausing with her hand around the handle when she heard voices speaking softly from beyond. She held her breath, her features scrunching in concentration and she tried to over hear the words being spoken as she opened the door a crack.

"How long has it been?" Alistair's voice was low. He sound weary, but then he always sounded weary at the moment.

"Hours." A second voice, Roselyn recognized it as belonging to Teagan. "It's anyone's guess how long it will take. What would you like me to do?"

"There's nothing we can do." Alistair sighed and Roselyn could see him rub his hands over his face. "We'll wait until the morning... Maybe then we'll have an answer."

Teagan dropped into a bow. "Very good, Your Maj -- Highness."

Roselyn waited until Teagan left and the main door closed with an audible click before opening the door from the bedroom to the presence chamber wide. She stood in the threshold, nibbling at her bottom lip. Alistair seemed oblivious to her standing there and she watched him all but slide into his chair at his desk, rubbing his thumb and forefinger across his eyebrows. She pursed her lips, moving silently across the floor to stand behind him. Roo watched from the window seat, wagging her stubby tail.

"What's wrong?" Alistair jumped a little when Roselyn spoke and to the touch of her fingers gliding through his hair. She kissed the crown of his head before beginning to rotate her fingers at his temples. He gave an audible groan and leaned into her touch.

"Nothing." His eyes flickered closed and he stretched his legs out underneath the table. "Teagan just updating me on something."

"Important?"

"It has the potential to be." Lifting his hands, they came to cover Roselyn's and his fingers slipped between hers. "I thought I heard you calling." Alistair arched his head back. "Is everything alright?"

"Mhm-hm." Roselyn followed Alistair's guidance when he led her around to come and sit in his lap. Apparently the wetness of her body seeping through her robe did not bother him in the slightest. "Everything is fine. It's you I'm worried about."

Alistair snorted, his hand working in small circles on Roselyn's upper back. "I'll be fine once all this mess is done and over with." He perched his chin on her head as she curled into his chest. "Once Loghain is out of my hair and I can breathe without him announcing how unfit I am to be King."

"When will that be?" Roselyn had not asked much about Howe's interrogation. She did not want to know the methods being used to extract information from him, or what that information was.

"Teagan and Duncan think we could call a Landsmeet tomorrow, given all the information Howe has given them..." He paused and Roselyn could practically hear his mind turning over. "It didn't take him long to crack apparently. The mere suggestion of threat to his family and he lost all loyalty to Loghain. A villain Howe might be - a coward, and easily bought - but he loves his family."

"I suppose everyone must have one redeeming feature," Roselyn's words were colder than she anticipated. She moved out of Alistair's lap and pushed her fingers back through her hair while retreating back into the bed chamber. "If you have all you need, why not call a Landsmeet and confront Loghain?"

Alistair followed her into their room. Roo padded in after him and tucked herself beneath the bed. Roselyn grabbed a hair brush from her vanity. She held it in her hand, running her thumb over the bristles rather than pulling it through her hair. Alistair sat at the end of their bed and watched her move from one spot to another, pacing slowly. Talking about Howe always caused a certain sense of anxiety to surface. Even though he was locked away in the dungeon and had no idea where their rooms were in the palace, she could not shake the knowledge that they were under the same roof. She did not feel safe with him in the palace.

"There are other things to contend with," Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "Eamon thinks it best we wait for Anora to have the baby. Knowing the sex will either weaken or strengthen her claim."

"So, a Landsmeet will be called when her child is born?"

"Probably." He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face while lying back. "It'll only be a matter of time."

"Hm." Roselyn bit her lips into her mouth but said nothing. She put her brush back on her vanity and went about changing for bed.

Alistair watched her, lying on his side with his head perched on his fist while she went about pulling on clean underclothes and one of his shirts after drying her body thoroughly. She caught his eye in the mirror while she pulled his shirt on over her head. Alistair smiled broadly and in the time it took her to pull his shirt on he was off the bed and behind her. His arms came to encircle her loose around the waist and he nuzzled her hair while swaying them on the spot. His hands lay over the swell of her belly and Roselyn tilted her head far enough back that Alistair kissed her forehead.

“What?” she asked him, enjoying the intimacy and the warmth he provided.

“You’re showing,” Alistair told her, eyes on the image of them reflected back in the mirror. “Did you know? You look lovely.”

“You’re my husband, you have to say that.” Roselyn rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks at the sincerity of his compliment.

He shook his head. “No I don’t.” He kissed her forehead again and exhaled heavily through his nose. “I can’t wait until we don’t have to hide it anymore."

"It's a necessary precaution."

"I want everyone to know.”

“Have you had a chance to tell Fiona like you wanted to?”

“Not yet.” A slight grimace marred Alistair's features. “It’s slipped my mind every time I’ve seen her. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.” Roselyn placed her hands on his forearms. “There are more important things to think on right now.”

“Not true. You and the baby are the most importan—” Alistair stopped abruptly and his gaze fell squarely on where his hands rest. “What was that?” He hardly breathed. Roselyn felt it too, a subtle movement beneath his palms, so personal and secretive it made her chest flutter.

“What was what?” She smiled.

“That... that ...” Alistair blinked hard and she could see his eyes watering as he searched for the right words. “It was like... I don’t know... I can’t explain--” He choked and swallowed thickly as a droplet trickled from the corner of his eye. Roselyn felt the strange squirming sensation again, her skin pulling tighter for a moment under Alistair's hands and then returning into place. Alistair gasped, his breaths growing a little quicker with excitement. He turned Roselyn to face him. “Was that the baby?” He asked, positively beaming looking between her face and her belly. “Did the baby just move? Did I feel it move?”

“Mhm-hm.” Roselyn dabbed the corner of his eye, her own beginning to sting with happy tears. “How does it feel?”

“Amazing!” Alistair pressed a fierce kiss to Roselyn lips before he dropped to his knees before her, like a pilgrim before an alter, and began to smother her skin in kisses. “It’s really real,” he gushed. “I mean, it was always real but now it’s really real. To feel it moving is so different to just talking about it!”

“It was a little shocking,” Roselyn agreed while brushing her fingers back through his hair. Alistair practically leapt to his feet.

“You shouldn’t be standing up.” He began fussing and ushering her to their bed. “You should lie down. Is that right? Is lying down better? You shouldn’t put any strain on yourself. Right? Is that right? I mean -- being on your feet that can't be good for you. Or the baby. Mostly you.”

Laughing, Roselyn wrapped her fingers around Alistair’s while he babbled in an increasingly excited panic. She kissed the heel of his hand when she lay back and gave a gentle pull, tempting him to lie down with her. He needed no coaxing coming to rest beside her, crumbling his fine clothes to be closer. He gingerly placed one hand flat over her skin and bit his bottom lip in concentration as he tried to focus on any light movement. They lay in secluded quiet, exchanging soft words and affectionate murmurs while waiting to see if the baby would move again.

At some point Roselyn fell asleep, not wholly uncommon given how tired she found herself most of the time. She was unsure how long or how deeply she had slept when Alistair jerked in bed beside her, causing her to wake abruptly. The reason for his sudden awakening became clear in moment: the sound of frantic knocking on their bedchamber door.

Roo was already growling softly at the door. Aside from a few candles burning low, the room was swamped in darkness and the depth of night outside gave Roselyn the impression it was late, at least beyond midnight. Alistair was still dressed in his clothes from earlier and wiped sleep from his eyes while climbing off the bed. Roselyn pulled a blanket around her to protect from the elements and to conceal her body.

"Who is it?" Alistair demanded on reaching the door.

"It is Erlina, Your Highness." The female voice came from the other side of the door, as panicked as her knocking. "Please, I must speak to Princess Roselyn. Please. Is she there?"

Roselyn got to her feet, her skin growing cold. The tone and desperation in Erlina's voice filled her with a dread that crept up her spine and made the hairs on her arms stand straight. She pulled on a robe and glanced at Alistair who did not look happy to have been rudely awakened. Ushering Roo to one side, Roselyn opened the door a little. Alistair loomed behind her, a protective and intimidating presence.

"What is it?" Roselyn asked. She could see in the candles still alight in the presence chamber the pale colour of Erlina's skin. Her eyes were wide, dark circles beneath them and her black hair an untidy mess. There was a thin film of sweat covering her face and neck, she looked sickly and apprehensive. Her eyes darted around as if searching for something in the shadows and she wrung her hands together.

"Please, you must come to My Lady. Now," Erlina reached for Roselyn's hand on the door. " _Please_!"

"Calm down," Roselyn said trying to remain as composed as possible and control her voice in the hopes it would settle Erlina. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Is it Anora?" asked Alistair. He held the door and opened it a little wider. His shadow swallowed Erlina and she peered up at him, almost fearful of him.

Roselyn glanced between the elf handmaid and her husband, once, twice, trying to read the unspoken conversation between them. Her stomach coiled and felt heavy. She instinctively clasped her hands over her belly. "Is it the baby?" Roselyn inquired.

Erlina's sharp eyes snapped to her. "It is." She nodded and wrapped her fingers around Roselyn's wrist before she could retract her hand. "Please, my Lady is fearful. She has asked for you. You must come!" Erlina pulled.

"Just a moment." Roselyn pulled back. She looked at Alistair. "What's going on?"

Alistair was stone faced, his skin having turned practically grey. His eyes were quiet, almost unfeeling when he met her gaze. "According to one of Teagan's people, she went into labour earlier today. It's been hours."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Not a lot to say," Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "I'm more concerned as to why you're here." He looked at Erlina. "Why is Anora asking for Roselyn?"

"She is afraid!" Erlina practically wailed. "According to the midwives the baby is in a strange position. The physicians speak about cutting her open! My Lady is exhausted and fears not just for her life, but for that of her child. She wishes to see the Princess. To repair the only friendship she valued before it is too late! Please come!"

"Is her father there?" Roselyn asked.

"N-no," Erlina shook her head. "In truth, My Lady has become fearful of her father in recent weeks. I-it is hard to explain."

Roselyn nodded once, "Give me a moment to dress." Erlina released her wrist and stepped away from the door. Closing it, Roselyn passed beneath Alistair's arm, crossing towards one of the armoires. She shed the thin robe she wore and pulled open the doors to find something thick to conceal her own condition yet quick to put on. She could feel a tension crackling between herself and Alistair. Unspoken, bristling anger.

"Why didn't you say something?!" Roselyn snapped pulling dress after dress from the cupboard and tossing them to the floor. "Why would you not tell me she was having the child _now_?! Didn't you think I would want to know?!" She found a gown of lamb's wool with long, draping sleeves lined in fur. It was a dress meant for riding and parades in cold weather, but it would have to do.

"What good would it have done to tell you?" Alistair bit back at her. "You can't do anything and you should focus on yourself."

"Whatever has happened between Anora and myself, I would not wish anyone to be alone or friendless at such a terrifying and uncertain time," Roselyn's tone grew sharp as she spoke. "Help me with this." She held the gown up and despite the irritation marring his features, Alistair went to her and took it from her hands. Roselyn stripped out of the shirt she wore to bed, gathered the skirts and stepped into the gown placing one hand on Alistair's shoulder to keep steady. She pulled it up to her hips and the sleeves onto her arms before turning her back to Alistair and waiting expectantly. A moment later she felt the familiar graze of his fingers on the skin of her back and the laces tightening.

"I didn't know if Loghain would be there," muttered Alistair after a few moments. "This could be a trap."

"I doubt that," Roselyn replied. "I do not believe Erlina is acting."

"What will you do when you see her?"

"I do not know." Roselyn ruffled her hair and exhaled as Alistair finished tying her into her gown. "But she has asked me to go, and I will. I will try to assist if I can. Perhaps simply having a friendly face will do something."

Alistair took hold of her shoulders gently and turned her towards him. "If anyone mentions Loghain coming, or summoning him --"

"I will leave," Roselyn slipped her hands around his jaw, what anger they had felt towards each other fizzling away. "Try not to worry. Once the child is born, then steps can be made to put this all behind us." Grasping one of Alistair's hands from her shoulders she guided it down to press against the swell of her belly almost completely swamped by the weight of her dress. The corners of Alistair's lips tickled into a smile and he bent, pressing his forehead to hers. "Then we can focus on us. Our family. Our future."

He chuckled shortly through his nose, "You're a better person than I am, Rosie."

"I don't believe that," she kissed him briefly. "And neither do you."

"Your Highness?!" Erlina's voice came through the door making Roselyn jump. "Time is of the essence!"

"Don't worry." Roselyn kissed Alistair again before leaving the safety of his embrace. "And don't wait up." She crossed the room to the door, opened it, commanded Roo to remain, and followed after Erlina.

The halls of the palace were shrouded in darkness, and the few guards on patrol nodded politely as Roselyn hurried through the corridors behind Erlina. They walked quickly, while trying to present a façade of calmness and composure as neither of them wanting to draw unnecessary attention. Down one passage then another, Roselyn could hear Anora's agonized cries muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors even before they reached where her rooms were situated. The sound made Roselyn blanche and balk, making her stumble a little and catch herself on the wall. She was young when Oriana gave birth to Oren and was kept away from the pandemonium which ensued. Since then she had witnessed no births and hearing the pain in Anora's shouts made a trickle of fear run down her spine for the first time since discovering her own pregnancy.

Her pause caught the attention of Erlina and the elven woman turned briskly to her. "Please." Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. "We must hurry."

"Of course." Roselyn took a long breath and steeled herself. "I'm sorry." A brief glimmer of relief appeared on Erlina's face and she carried on leading the way.

Roselyn followed Erlina into Anora's rooms once they came to them. The heavy doors were pulled open from one side by another of Anora's maids and Erlina bustled in. The first thing that hit Roselyn was the warmth of the rooms. It was stuffy and uncomfortable, she could barely breathe on walking in and the heat almost stung her eyes. Then there was a smell. Something herbal, rosemary and something else. Something stronger and more harsh that made her nose prickle and her eyes water. There was very little light in the presence chamber beyond a few candles, most light came from Anora's bedchamber, the doors to which were open.

She had not seen or spoken to Anora much since she and Alistair returned from Highever; she was too angry and hurt, possibly to blinded to see beyond her own sense of betrayal. She regretted her words and actions now. How she had not been the friend to Anora that Anora had been to her? Uneasy as Roselyn felt at seeing her in such a vulnerable state, she pushed beyond her own concerns. Anora had asked for her and she would _not_ let her down.

Anora's room was a hive of movement and people. In one corner were several of the palace physicians. Roselyn recognized Bart among them from the tourney so many months before. Several of Anora's ladies-in-waiting bustled around her carrying cloths and sheets which were damp or bloodied. There were two midwives, discernible by the stiff white hats they wore to cover their hair. One was a plump human woman with a worn face and small eyes. The other was elven, middle-aged and drenched in sweat, filling a basin with water from a jug. There was a Chantry sister too, swinging back and forth on a brass chain an incense burner while singing verses of the Chant softly. It was from that the smell was coming from.

In the centre of the room was Anora's canopy bed, the sheets and covers all pushed or pulled to the foot. Beside it a small wooden crib, ready for when the child was delivered. Anora lay in the middle, propped up on dozens of pillows, her hands clasped into white-knuckled fists clinging to the soaked fabric underneath her. Her whole body was trembling, her skin shining with sweat and her hair sticking to her face, neck, and her shoulders. She wore a night gown which Roselyn could see had red stains on it.

As she lingered by the door taking in the scene around her, Roselyn gaze found Anora's and for a split second there was a glimmer of happiness in the other woman's face. The expression crumbled into one of pain and Anora groaned while pushing her head back into the pillows.

"Why is the room like this?" Roselyn demanded, entering the room. Several people bobbed into curtsies automatically. Roselyn crossed to Anora's side without hesitation, all her previous unease gone at the sight of her friend.

"Roselyn..." Anora reached for one of her hands. Roselyn could feel her palm was sticky with sweat, but her skin was cold to the touch. Up close she could see deep, dark circles of exhaustion around Anora's eyes. Her skin was mostly pale aside from a flush across her cheeks and her neck. Much of her face was sunken as if she was malnourished. Roselyn pressed the back of her free hand to Anora's cheeks and forehead - a gesture her mother had done to her as a child. Anora's eyes closed and she sighed softly, "I didn't think you'd come."

"Shh," Roselyn stroked Anora's blonde hair back from her face. "Of course I came."

Anora's hold on tightened on her hand and she struggled to sit up. "I need to tell you -- My father – Highever --" Her words came to an abrupt stop and Roselyn had to grit her teeth to stop from wincing as Anora's grip grew tighter. She pushed her head back into the pillows again, a low moan ripping from deep inside her chest. The human midwife peered up from the foot of the bed.

"Keep pushing, Your Highness," she urged, her accent not of Ferelden. To Roselyn it sounded more from the Free Marches. "Bear down."

After several moments Anora's grip loosened and she relaxed a little, breathing hard. She looked up at Roselyn after taking several sharp breaths. "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened," Anora almost sobbed. "I had no idea. I never knew --"

"Hush, Anora," Roselyn took a cloth from a basin of fresh water which was offered to her and began to smooth it over Anora's face and neck. "Later, tell me later." She sat. "I asked why the room is like this!" She looked at Erlina and at the other ladies-in-waiting who hung back, confused as to why Roselyn was there.

"Teyrn Loghain's orders, Your Highness." One of the ladies explained. "Necessary for the health of the Que... of My Lady, and the child."

"How is keeping her closed up in a stuffy room helping?" Roselyn barked at her. "Open the windows and remove whatever is making that awful smell." She heard the Chantry sister stop mid-verse. "Get something for her to drink." Several woman moved around the room doing as Roselyn demanded. "You." She nodded at another lady. "Go to the guest quarters and wake Fiona. Explain what is happening and ask her to come here."

"The elven _mage_ , Your Highness?"

"Yes!" Roselyn replied shortly. "The elven mage. Go. Now."

"We do not need the help of a mage, My Lady." The plumper of the two midwives interjected, causing the woman Roselyn had told to go to pause in her steps. "We have delivered many children and this is not an issue that a mage need to interfere with."

Roselyn bristled and gave the midwife a hard stare. "Fiona is a skilled healer and knowledgeable. I do not doubt your abilities at delivering the child, but Anora's health is waning and Erlina mentioned talk of cutting her open." She glanced at the physicians who all seemed to shift uncomfortably. "If that happens and lives are put at risk then at least Fiona may be able to save one or both." She returned her eyes to the woman she spoke to initial. "Get Fiona and bring her here, _now_."

"Shall I fetch your father, My Lady?" the woman asked.

Anora's eyes went to her, a look of panic crossing her features. "No. No. Not my father. I _don't_ want him here!" With a nod the woman hurried out of the room.

Roselyn shifted on Anora's bed and closer to her. She changed the hand Anora was holding so she could wrap her free arm around her shoulders. Anora's nightgown stuck to her, the fabric almost completely soaked with her sweat. Anora clenched down on Roselyn's hand and she could see muscles straining in her face and neck as she grit her teeth against the pain of another contraction. Anora shook furiously, sweat trickling down her forehead and her neck. Roselyn's fingers ached, she squeezed back into Anora's hand through the pain.

The elven midwife had her hands on Anora's belly, pressing and feeling around with a look of stern concentration. The other remained at the foot of the bed rubbing Anora's feet and her calves while offering words of encouragement which were mostly lost under Anora's yelling. Erlina was on the opposite side of Anora and held her other hand. Bart, the other physicians continued to talk quietly while Anora's other ladies were useless and lost for what to do in one corner of the room.

With the windows open and the smell slowly leaving, Roselyn had a cleared head. When the contraction finished and Anora slumped back in her pillows, Roselyn quickly started to wipe away sweat from Anora's forehead and move her hair off her face. After a minute or so of quiet, Fiona arrived with the lady-in-waiting who went to fetch her. She was dressed in her mage robes which looked hurriedly pulled on. Her short hair was a mess, as though she had only been able to ruffle her hands through it to make it neat.

It took her only a moment to assess the situation. Her pale green eyes and her features hardened and she grew closer to Anora. She examined her in silence, no one speaking - even the midwives kept their complaints about her presence to themselves. Fiona was more intent than Roselyn had ever seen her. She felt over Anora's belly, a soft green glow emanating from beneath her hands. Fiona moved around the bed to examine from the other side and then positioned herself at the end of the bed. The cool glow never stopped and it seemed it helped to calm Anora down somewhat.

"The baby is in an odd position," Fiona remarked.

"We thought as much," one midwife said. "We think the best course of action is to remove the child from Her Highness' belly by surgical means. It is a risk but less likely to result in the death of the infant."

Anora whimpered, her grip on Roselyn's hand tightened and she sat up off the pillows. Again, her face showed the strain and the agonizing pain. Roselyn squeezed her hand back as tight as she could and watched Fiona at the foot of the bed. Her feature's scrunched into one of momentary confusion. She grabbed a clean white blanket from a pile to her right and inched it beneath Anora's legs and backside.

"Cutting her open won't be necessary," Fiona said. "The child is almost ready to be born. But it will not be easy. The child has not turned fully into the correct position."

"Hear that?" Roselyn hugged Anora's shoulder, "You're almost there." She smiled supportively but felt lost for what to do or say. This was a whole new realm for her. She had no clue what was correct and what was not. She watched Fiona closely. Her thin hands massaging Anora's abdomen over the swell of the baby. Anora winced and hissed when Fiona pressed but did not complain beyond that.

"I need to tell you..." Anora squeezed Roselyn's hand. "There's so much to say."

"Later, Anora," Roselyn smoothed her hair back. "Later."

"There may not be a later." Even exhausted and drenched in sweat she retained a calmness and regality that Roselyn found impressive. She was a stalwart woman; even now nothing seemed to shake her. Her statement surprised Roselyn and it took her a moment to really understand what Anora said.

"You're not going to die," Roselyn replied with as much conviction as she could muster. "You heard what Fiona said..."

"My age… If this doesn't work..." Anora said. She leaned back in her pillows and looked at Roselyn. "If it is my life or the child's, then so be it. I would gladly go to the Maker for my son. But not until you know the truth."

"Anora --"

"Roselyn, _please_." Roselyn lost her will to argue and remained silent. She looked at Fiona who gave her a momentary glance before returning her attention to her task at hand. "You must know I never meant to hurt you. I knew nothing of Highever, of the massacre of your family. Had I known I would have put a stop to it!" Tears began to form in Anora's eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what happened to them."

"It's not your fault." Roselyn managed not to choke on her words. The thought of her family and her home was still painful and she struggled to talk about it. "I don't blame you. There's nothing for you to apologize for."

"I never imagined this. I thought when Cailan returned... I don't know. But he didn't. I was lost. I wanted to make sure that for all the insults I suffered through, I would have something. I never imagined that it would impact you." Anora's breath shook. She shuddered and clasped one hand up to her face. "I never imagined my father would go to such drastic measures. He's a madman, he's not the man I looked up to and admired..."

"Anora," Roselyn smoothed her hair back again, lost for anything else to do.

"I never knew he could be so callous. So cruel." Anora turned her tearful gaze on Roselyn. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "When I found out about Highever I didn't want to believe it was my father's doing. I wanted to believe it was just a random attack. But it was him - I think deep down I knew. I sent a letter using his seal --"

She paused and pushed herself up off the pillows. Her expression drew into one of pain and she dropped her head back, groaning. The glow from Fiona's hands reappeared where she stroked Anora's legs and peered up from between them.

"A little more, My Lady," Fiona told her. "The child is in a better position now." She nodded to the two midwives who lingered close by. One took Fiona's place at the foot of the bed, blanket at the ready, the other stood nearby with a small selection of tools in a leather bound pouch. She started cleaning them thoroughly.

Anora dropped back into her pillows with a grunt. She drank from a silver goblet Erlina offered to her, sighed, and turned her gaze back to Roselyn. "I found out using his seal and his contacts that he was organizing a... a something. After ridding the throne of you and Alistair, he had plans to somehow round up anyone from Orlais or with Orlesian family and have them tried for treason. He's gone mad. He sees shadows and villains in every corner. You must believe me, this man is not the father I grew up with. He is not the Hero of River Dane. This man in the palace is a stranger to me. A stranger I am afraid of."

Roselyn heard the tremor in Anora's voice even as she tried to hide it. A cold chill ran over her arms beneath her thick dress and she swallowed, "Why?"

"I told him I wanted to give up the claim to the throne. After you and Alistair returned from Highever, I wanted to give up. He refused. He threatened me. He told me he would take the child away if I betrayed him," Anora's voice grew tearful and she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. "I can't allow him to have anything to do with my son. If he gets his hands on him... I don't know what will happen."

"He won't get near you. Or the baby," Roselyn answered and hugged her closer. She waited a moment, slowly digesting everything Anora said. She knew that Loghain was responsible, but to hear it from Anora was more jarring and painful than she expected. The confirmation was sharp and stung her, a pain that she felt all the way down to her bones. What was more frightening were Loghain's growing delusions and his threats against his own blood. He was more dangerous that Roselyn first thought, but with Anora's word and a confession from Howe, then the Landsmeet would surely be convinced of Loghain's madness and those who still supported him would see the danger in doing so.

As Roselyn went to spoke further, Anora jerked up beside her and almost growled. Her brows furrowed, her cheeks flushed and the midwives started to bustle. Several of Anora's ladies-in-waiting came forward with cloths and to offer their support. Fiona stood to one side out of the way with the physicians and the Chantry sister. Anora gripped Roselyn's hand, and that of Erlina.

"That's it, Your Highness. Breathe through it." The plump midwife reached for some a tool in the leather scroll the other held. In the brief moment Roselyn saw it, it looked like some kind of small clamp. "Keep going. Almost there," the woman cooed, though her words were mostly covered by Anora's yelling.

Roselyn clenched her hand around Anora's. Her nails dug into the back of Roselyn's hand but the pain was minimal and Roselyn hardly noticed. Another loud groan, Anora seemed to pool what strength she had left. Noise and talking grew louder, orders being barked back and forth until there was nothing to hear but a baby's squalling.

The midwives worked quickly, doing what was necessary with their small tool set and cleaning the child up. Erlina practically sobbed into her hand and Anora fell back into her pillows, breathing hard. Fiona came closer, moving silently and laid her hands over Anora with that same green healing glow. The baby screamed, its cries loud and long. Roselyn pushed Anora's hair out of her face and left her to catch her breath. She approached the midwives, and the gang of ladies who were all crowded around the baby in the elven midwife's arms.

Even before Roselyn saw the child, she could feel from the atmosphere of the group that something was not quite right. Several of them exchanged uneasy looks, disappointment and worry marring their features. The group spread to allow Roselyn through. The baby stopped crying, swaddled up in white linens. Its small hands clasped into tight little fists while its face was scrunched up with apparent annoyance. It was a chubby little thing, two eyes, a nose, two ears, and a mouth. A thin layer of soft downy hair on its hair of no discernible colour.

"What's wrong?" Anora's voice came from her bed.

"May I?" Roselyn asked the midwife. She obliged gently placing the baby into Roselyn's arms. Rocking it back and forth, Roselyn went to Anora's bedside. "You have a little girl, Anora." She smiled at her, though she saw the momentary flicker of disappointment appear over Anora's face. "Healthy, and beautiful. Would you like to hold her?"

With Erlina's help, Anora managed to straighten in her pillows and sat up as much as she was able. She waited expectantly still partly under Fiona's healing hands. Roselyn carefully placed the baby in Anora's waiting arms and stepped back, her own hands clasping together over her abdomen. She watched Anora peer down at the now quiet bundle and was relieved to see a smile break over Anora's face.

"She _is_ beautiful, isn't she?" Anora said, tearfully

Roselyn retreated from Anora's bedchamber to the presence chamber after a few minutes. She needed the air and to gather herself and Anora was busy being fussed over by her ladies-in-waiting to notice her absence for a few moments.

Once in the quieter atmosphere of the presence chamber, Roselyn leaned up against a wall with her head tilted back. She stifled a small sob, biting her bottom lip and quickly rubbed her cheeks and eyes with her hands. She examined the markings on the back of her hand that Anora's fingernails had left and then peered down at the subtle swell of her belly under her dress. It had not hit her until that moment just what pregnancy entailed. It wasn't just the carrying the child, but she would have to give birth to it too. And that was a frightening thought. Watching Anora and being with her as she went through it was harrowing enough. Anora was one of the strongest women she knew, and to see her so afraid... Roselyn found herself afraid for her life and that of her child for the second time that night.

As if on cue she felt the strange fluttering sensation of movement, then a subtle jab underneath her ribcage - the baby reminding her it was there. She laughed to herself and managed to smile, stroking her hands over where the baby had moved. "It's alright..." She told the baby and herself while leaning back against the wall and exhaling deeply. "We're alright."

"Are you speaking to me, Your Highness?" Fiona's soft, Orlesian tone broke through Roselyn's quietness, making her jump. She appeared from the threshold of Anora's bedchamber mopping her brow with the sleeve of her robe.

"No. I'm sorry, Fiona." Roselyn straightened up.

"That's quite all right." The two women looked at each other. "I am glad you sent for me. Had you not, I am not sure whether mother or child would have survived."

"Mhm."

"These Fereldens are too eager to cut into things, if you ask me."

"I'm sure it was a last resort." Roselyn pushed her hands through her hair. "Thank you for coming so promptly. And being so useful."

"I would not have abandoned her in her time of need. Just as you did not." Fiona smiled warmly, her eyes almost glowing. "Though, now you have the things she said to think on, do you not?"

"Yes..." Roselyn sighed and it shook as it passed her lips. "I'll tell Alistair first. See w-what he w-wants... w-what he w-wants t-to--" A sob spilled out of Roselyn's mouth. She covered her mouth with one hand and tears that were prickling behind her eyes began to spill down her cheeks. She held back another sob and doubled over as if in pain. Fiona was at her side in seconds, hands on her shoulders to keep her steady. "I-I'm sorry," Roselyn waved her off. "I'm s-so sorry. I d-don't know what's wrong with me."

"It has been a long, emotional night," Fiona's voice was kind and motherly when she spoke. "And I imagine this has been quite an ordeal for you to witness, given your condition."

Roselyn blinked and sniffled turning her head to look at Fiona. "M-my condition?"

"You _are_ pregnant, aren't you?" Fiona gave her a knowing look. Roselyn's eyes widened. "I have dealt with more than my fair share of pregnant mages and apprentices. I know many of the signs. And I've noticed how Alistair has been so attentive to you. Even more so than usual." She chuckled.

"Y-yes..." Roselyn gave a breathless laugh. "I suppose he has been."

Gently, Fiona placed a hand upon Roselyn's belly and for a few moments the two women stood in silence. Roselyn found herself holding her breath and watching Fiona's expression. Fiona's pale eyes grew glassy and she heard the elven woman's breath shake on a slow exhale.

"You must be so happy," Fiona said after a few moments. "The both of you." She looked at Roselyn.

"Yes."

"I never imagined I would see Alistair have his own family," she smiled. "I'm sure his parents would have been proud." When Fiona looked at her, Roselyn said nothing. She tilted her head to one side feeling the air grow thick with words being unsaid. Fiona gently cleared her throat, "I assume there's a reason you haven't announced it."

Roselyn clutched Fiona's lower arm, "Alistair and I don't want anyone to know until this whole issue with the rite of succession is over."

"I understand." Fiona swept her hair back off her face and the brief tension dissipated. "You'll need to announce something soon, unless you want to begin shutting yourself away and hiding. Do you know many months you are?"

"I began to suspect in Firstfall... so four, I think. No more than five."

Fiona nodded. "Should you need anything, let me know. I would like to lend my assistance, if I can."

"Thank you, Fiona." Forcing a smile, Roselyn wiped her face with her hands. It took her a few minutes to compose herself and for the tears to stop. When she was ready, she released a long breath and dropped her shoulders, standing upright as much as she could. She turned back to Anora's room and re-entered. Several eyes turned to her when she paused a few steps into the room. The baby was still in Anora's arms and the midwives were beginning to clean up the soiled sheets while Anora's ladies-in-waiting helped. Anora caught Roselyn's eyes across the room.

"Roselyn?"

"Anora," Roselyn clasped her hands before her. "Perhaps this is a bad time to ask but I think it is necessary to do so, given how fresh everything is in your mind. The things you said... would you be willing to repeat them in a trial against your father?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this part of the chapter! It was a tricky part to write, make no mistake. But hopefully you liked it. Next part will be up soon! I'm going to go catch up on comments now.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments. <3 <3


	29. Chapter 17: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobles have been gathered for the Landsmeet. The time has come for an end to the issue of succession. However, the purpose of the Landsmeet is more than just to agree on who should rule Ferelden - those gathered will hear the crimes of Loghain and Howe firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Thanks to beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr), without whom this fic would never have come to completion.

_One month later  
End of Drakonis/Start of Cloudreach_

_-_  
  
The day the Landsmeet gathered was a sombre one. The sky was covered in dark grey clouds and rain started falling from early in the morning, flooding the streets and turning the gardens into bogs and marshland. Banns and arls arrived days before the Landsmeet was due to commence. They were all under the assumption that they were to weigh in on the matter of succession, now that Anora's child was born. No one had any clue it was a trap; once it began Loghain would be put on trial and the terrible deeds he had been leader of would come to light.

The main hall was made ready. Two large chairs were set up on the dais where Alistair and Roselyn would sit to preside over things. Two chairs were set lower, one for Loghain and one for Anora. Teagan and Duncan would be in charge of proceedings and the questioning of witnesses. Guards were set at every door, fully armed and armoured. For all Alistair knew, Loghain was expecting something like this and his own guards might have hidden weapons. Alistair would not leave anything to chance. The Landsmeet would witness the trial and Loghain would be punished for the crimes he committed. There was no doubt in Alistair's mind that the day would come out in his and Roselyn's favour.

Only a fool would support Loghain now.

Shianni arrived from the Alienage with a small group of elves. She kept Alistair informed over the passing weeks about the rescue effort of the captured elves from the Tevinter slavers. Many who were injured or sick were now recovered and those who still needed care received it in their new infirmary. Fiona sat with Shianni in the main hall. The sigils of the different banns and arls were littered around the room, indicating where they would be situated. Along the top of the hall in the gallery were those who were the ruling lords to smaller locations. While not unimportant, their voices did not carry a much weight as others.

There were chairs and tables arranged on the main floor where the people from each location could sit. Neighbouring lands sat with neighbouring lands. It looked as it was supposed to. A Landsmeet - nothing more and nothing less.

Alistair was not a fan of subterfuge or the time it took to arrange everything. He knew it was necessary; letting Loghain know he was going to trial gave him the opportunity to flee or to construct some outlandish defense. Still, Alistair was on edge ever since the day summons were sent out by messengers. He struggled with daily business as members of the Landsmeet slowly trickled into the capital from their own lands. Every time he saw Loghain or had to converse with him, he wanted to let loose. To demand the answers to his questions there and then. He felt like he would explode time and time again, but somehow kept his calm.

Roselyn was his saving grace. Every evening she sat and listened when he needed to off load his anger, when he could not hold in anymore how furious and confused his was with Loghain's treachery and his decisions.

Part of him was disappointed too. His father told him of Loghain time and again as he grew up. Of Loghain's prowess in battle and that no one in Thedas had a mind for military strategy like him. That he was the most loyal and trustworthy friend Maric had ever had. Alistair wondered what Maric would think he could see the deeds of the Hero of River Dane now. Would he clap him on the shoulder and laugh? Take it as a fine jest and a good joke and allow Loghain to go unpunished? Or would he frown on the things Loghain had done and punish him?

Would Maric approve of the action Alistair was taking?

Would his father think he was doing the right thing? Would he think that he was looking beyond himself to the best interests of Ferelden in dealing with Loghain? Would Ferelden suffer for losing the fine military mind and the man so many admired and looked up to?

Every day Alistair questioned himself and the choices that had led both he and Loghain to this point. He went to bed with a pounding headache more than once. He knew he needed to be strong and steadfast in his convictions, as the members of the Landsmeet would know if he was not. The morning of the Landsmeet, Alistair steeled himself and assured himself as he dressed that this was the right thing. Not for him or Roselyn, but for Ferelden overall.

Having someone like Loghain around, someone with clout and sway who could turn the ear of those who listened... He could easily turn minds to that of civil war. Alistair could not - _would not -_ allow that to happen. Loghain needed to be dealt with. A trial was fair and it gave everyone with power the opportunity to know the truth from those who knew it firsthand.

Alistair waited with Roselyn in the council chamber beyond the main hall. Teagan was to summon them when everyone was situated and ready for proceedings to begin. Roselyn sat while Alistair paced back and forth uneasily. He ruffled his hands through his hair over and over again. He was anxious, uneasy. Roselyn told him everything Anora said the night she had her baby and that Anora would speak against her father. But saying it and doing it were two different things. He wasn't worried about Howe. Howe was protecting his family in speaking against Loghain; they would keep their lives for his testimony. But Anora... her loyalties could easily be divided or she could lose her nerve when it came to her turn to give evidence.

He wished he didn't have to be present. That he could simply be informed of the decision once all the evidence was given and the Landsmeet gave their votes. A foolish notion since he knew whether present or not, he would feel as anxious as he did now: tense and worried, his stomach turning, and a cold sweat making his clothes uncomfortable.

When the doors from the main hall opened, Alistair almost yelped in surprise. He expected to see Teagan summoning he and Roselyn for things to begin, and was more confused when he realized it was Fiona who entered. She closed the door behind her, nodded politely, and went across to Roselyn. The two women exchanged words and Fiona placed her hands over the barely concealed swell of her belly. In the past month her pregnancy had grown harder and harder to hide. Roselyn took to staying in their rooms, out of sight and Fiona came to tend to her every few hours.

"How are you feeling?" asked Fiona feeling over the fabric of Roselyn's gown. "Any problems?"

"I don't think so," Roselyn smiled wearily. "My back aches, my feet hurt, and I can't sleep comfortably but I think the baby is fine. Certainly likes to be busy during the night..."

"All normal things that occur during pregnancy, Your Highness." Alistair saw Fiona retrieve a small hempen pouch from her pocket when he approached. "Something to alleviate the back pains. Chew it when you feel it coming on and it should numb the pain a little." She handed it to Roselyn.

"Thank you, Fiona." Roselyn slipped the pouch into one of her own pockets and offered Alistair a small smile when he came to stop by her side. She took his hand when he offered it and he ran his thumb across her knuckles.

Fiona smoothed her hands over the bump for a few seconds, feeling with a look of concentration on her face. She withdrew them with a small gasp. "A strong child." She stated, smiling at Roselyn and Alistair. "Takes after his father, I'm sure... Or she."

Roselyn laughed softly and rubbed where the baby had kicked. "Certainly does."

"I'm sorry I've not been particularly attentive today," Alistair mumbled, his anxiety making it impossible for him to focus on the signs of their child's life.

"It's all right. No need to apologise."

"Are you both ready?" Fiona inquired, taking a small step back. "I believe almost everyone is arrived. Things should be underway soon."

"Maker..." Alistair blanched a little and ran his free hand down over his face. "I am making the right choice, aren't I?" He looked at Fiona. "A public trial where Loghain can be judged by everyone. Not just me."

"You are," Fiona's voice was firm and confident. "Loghain has lost his faculties. I heard everything Anora said to Roselyn. The fear in her voice was no lie. Loghain needs to be dealt with. At least this way he is being given a fair chance and the opportunity to defend himself. Which is more than he deserves."

"Oh?"

"What he did to the elves in the Alienage, his part in the massacre of Highever, his plan to have anyone from Orlais or with ties to Orlais rounded up and tried for treason. Never mind whatever other plans he might have had..." Fiona's face was still and betrayed no feeling, but her voice shook with underlying anger. "He deserves to be hanged in a cage and left for the crows in my opinion. Eradicated from history and memory until no one remembers him." She looked squarely at Alistair. "You are a better person than I am, Your Highness, to display such mercy and give him a chance to explain."

Alistair smiled weakly, "Whoever he is now, he was my father's closest friend for a long time. And he is the father of my brother's widow, not to mention a war hero." He sighed. "Just because he is a different man now doesn't mean those things no longer have meaning."

Fiona's mouth curved into a half-smile, "Well said."

The door to the council chamber opened and Duncan entered, holding the door ajar behind him. Alistair felt Roselyn's hand tighten around his. Alistair helped her up from the chair, placing his hand at the small of her back to steady her. Roselyn smoothed out her gown, doing her best to mask her belly. At least after today she wouldn't need to hide it - though given how large she had grown over the last few weeks Alistair doubted it was a secret anymore. Once she was steady he looked at Duncan expectantly.

"We're ready." Duncan stepped to one side and held the door open. Fiona left first, followed by Alistair and Roselyn. Duncan came after, closing the door behind him.

To Alistair, the main hall was little more than a sea of faces. Conversation came to a gradual stop as Alistair and Roselyn took their seats. Anora was seated beside Loghain, her eyes fixed on Erlina who sat nearby with Anora's daughter, Cecily. Erlina sat with some of Alistair's guards within arm's reach. None of Loghain's own men could get close. A risk Alistair feared was that Loghain would threaten the baby if he was cornered. At least with Erlina and Cecily protected by the palace guards there was little chance of that happening.

He saw Anora catch Roselyn's eye and the two of them exchange small smiles. Since the birth of Cecily the two women rekindled their friendship. It was not as warm as it once was, nor would it ever be, but neither of them were so alone or isolated anymore.

Once he and Roselyn were settled, Teagan took to the floor to address those in attendance.

"My Lords and Ladies," Teagan began, projecting his voice to everyone could hear him. A few people in the gallery shifted in the effort to see better. "First, on behalf of his Highness, we must thank you for coming to this Landsmeet. Hopefully after today Ferelden will no longer be without a ruler and a new age can begin with the rightful monarch in place."

"That rightful monarch being Anora," Loghain interrupted. Alistair managed not to growl. Only thirty seconds into proceedings and he was already on attack. "True, the child is not the gender we hoped - but she is the child of Cailan and Anora's union. The rightful blood heir to the throne."

Teagan carried on as if Loghain was not there. "Discussion will begin shortly and you will all be welcome to weigh in with your opinions and your reasons for supporting one side or the other. First, however, there is another matter to which we must attend." Teagan paused, as if for dramatic effect. Alistair concealed his mouth, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and curling his fingers across his lips. "As many of you know, the family of Her Highness the Princess Roselyn was mercilessly murdered not three months ago. The Teyrnir of Highever was ransacked, many inhabitants were cut down as was every member of the Cousland family and an attempt was made against Her Highnesses life during her visit there. It seemed those responsible were without name or reason. No identification could be made to them, or connection to who they worked for. Until recently."

Murmurs arose and several people shifted. The deaths of the Cousland family had gone like a shockwave through the nobility of Ferelden. Many began to fear for themselves. After all, if one of the oldest and most established families could be attacked and destroyed in one night, any family could.

Alistair glanced at Loghain. His face was still and he did not move though his hands were clasped around the arms of his chair a little.

"Through the tireless effort of the Bann of the Denerim Alienage, Shianni, the man responsible was found and apprehended two months ago," Teagan continued. "He was brought to the palace and questioned at length."

"Who is it Teagan?" someone shouted.

"The Crows?" a woman's voice came from the back of the chamber.

"Another assassin's guild?"

Teagan nodded to the guards at a side door, "Bring in the prisoner."

Several moments went passed where the air in the room grew in tension. Alistair felt energy crackling around him. People moved and jostled, trying to peer over others to get the first view of the prisoner when he was brought before them. The sound of footsteps and iron shackle chains dragging on the floor could be heard. More people murmured, the noise getting slowly louder. Alistair kept his expression as still as possible when Howe was led into the chamber, flanked by two guards armed with pole arms.

He had not seen Howe since the night he was found at the underground docks. He looked a shadow of a man. His face was thin and in place of a clean shave had grown a patchy grey scruff. He was thin. His clothes worn and tattered. He could walk, but his shoulders were stooped and the iron binding his hands and feet clearly weighed him down. His hair was longer in places, in others it looked as though it had fallen out. He was a pitiful sight. Alistair almost felt sorry for the man - then he saw Roselyn's face, how stony and still it was. How there were tears brimming in her eyes. Here was one of the men responsible for the deaths of her family. All pity Alistair felt disappeared when he remembered that and he saw Roselyn clench her fingers into the material of her gown. He reached for her closest hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles when she took it.

The guards brought Howe to a stop before the nobility gathered. Alistair watched Loghain's face for any change in expression but saw nothing beyond him refusing to look at Howe. Several people were murmuring to each other. Alistair could make out the odd word but not much. There was a tension in the air that was not there before. Teagan glanced back at Alistair and he gave a small nod to continue.

"Many of you will know this man as Rendon Howe, _former_ Arl of Amaranthine. All titles and lands have been stripped from him for the part in played in the murders of the Couslands of Highever and many of the common folk living there. He has been brought before you to give evidence in a trial against the man who ordered him to commit this heinous act." Teagan paused for a moment as voices began to rise in talk. He settled them with a small wave on his hand. Alistair kept his eyes on Loghain. The colour was draining from his face and he squirmed in his chair uncomfortably. "The man who has, for months, had elves taken from their beds and shipped to Tevinter for the slave trade." Loghain made to stand up as if about to leave. One of the palace guards slapped their hand on his shoulder keeping him firmly in place. "The man who intends to round up anyone with a connection to Orlais and have them tried for treason..." Teagan waited a moment for the noise to die down. "If his daughter sits on the throne."

The cacophony that arose made Alistair wince and he clenched his teeth against the braying and outcry. He tightened his hold on Roselyn's hand when he felt her trembling and gave it a supportive squeeze. Many of the shouts were lost to his ears while everyone tried to yell over everyone else to get themselves heard. Teagan remained calm and composed in the middle of it all. The rise in noise caused Cecily to begin fussing and Anora left her chair to tend to the baby. She took a free seat beside Erlina and took Cecily into her arms. One guard removed her seat and suddenly there were three armoured guards around Loghain there to prevent him from fleeing.

Alistair saw Loghain look over at him. His small eyes were burning with a fury that would have made Alistair freeze in place in the past. Now he simply smiled a little in return to the outrage in Loghain's expression and turned his attention fully to Teagan.

One of the guards snapped the end of their pole arm on the ground several times in order to call those gathered to order. The sharp noise echoed around the room and the braying grew quiet.

"These are strong accusations, Teagan!" Bann Ceorlic shouted from the gallery. "You had best have strong proof."

"They can't be true!" someone else shouted.

"He's the Hero of River Dane! He chased out the Orlesians with King Maric!" another man yelled. "Loghain would never be a traitor!"

"This trial would not be happening if we did not have the proof," Duncan answered, stepping to Teagan's side. "If you would all be patient and wait until all evidence has been heard, then you can make your minds up as to whether these allegations are true or not."

For a minute or so there was more murmuring and soft complaints under the breath of some members of the Landsmeet, but the noise and rabble settled allowing Teagan and Duncan to continue. Duncan carried with him a scroll of parchment. Howe's signed confession, written by a scribe while he recounted events to Duncan and Teagan almost a month ago. Alistair had read it only once.

"Rendon Howe," Teagan began proceedings, clasping his hands behind his back. "Would you, in your own words, repeat to those gathered here the details of the arrangement between yourself and Teyrn Loghain?"

Howe could barely stand on his own and the guards that flanked him held him up with their hands beneath his arms. He wavered on his feet and seemed to take several deep breaths as he gathered his thoughts before he began to speak.

"Loghain reached out to me when support was shown as divided between his daughter, Anora, and Prince Alistair over who should rule," he began. His voice was hoarse and cracked through lack of use. Alistair strained to hear him but did not move in his seat. Any move or gesture could be considered a sign of weakness or unease. He could not - _would not -_ give anyone means to think he was nervous. "The death of Maric and Prince Cailan left much unknown and many in turmoil. Not long after that first Landsmeet and after Alistair and Anora had refused the first option of marrying each other as a solution, I met with Loghain in Gwaren where we discussed terms and his plans for Ferelden when Anora ruled as regent." Howe cast the tiniest glance at Loghain only to look away instantly. Alistair saw why, Loghain was practically purple in the face and snarling. He looked like a cornered beast.

"Loghain told me that for some time he had grown unhappy with how Orlesians and the lifestyle of Orlais was beginning to infiltrate into Ferelden, particularly into the palace. I believe he was informed by his daughter of changing fashions and influences coming in from our neighbour." Howe moved and his shackles clanked on the stone floor. "He decided something had to be done when Anora disclosed to him in letters that she believed Maric intended to annul her marriage to Cailan and have Cailan marry Celene instead. He said his initial thought was to confront Maric, but when the King died that was no longer an option. He knew there would be some conflict over who should rule. Alistair is a bastard, after all, and was never trained for Kingship. And Anora, being a woman would never be seriously considered. There were other options too, but when they threw in their support for Alistair... Teyrn Loghain explained a need to take matters into his own hands. For the good of Ferelden."

"And what were these plans of his?" asked Teagan. "What matters did he intend to undertake for the sake of Ferelden?"

Howe swallowed to dampen his dry throat, "He knew I had had dealings with the Cousland family in the past, that once we were close. My daughter and their son were once engaged until he married some whore --"

"Howe!" snapped Teagan.

Howe sneered a little, "-- from Antiva and broke that arrangement." He shifted again, just enough that his eyes could find and stay on Roselyn. Alistair felt her stiffen and heard a sharp intake of breath. Her skin grew cold in an instant and he watched the blood drain from her face. For all the fear going through her, she managed to keep her face still and impassive. She was determined to not let Howe get to her. "He informed me that if the Cousland support could be removed in some way, then other support would waver. The Couslands were the only viable option, and I believe Teyrn Loghain hoped that removing them would weaken the Prince's resolve. That perhaps he would be too occupied with his new bride and her grief to focus on contending for the throne."

"This is slander!" Loghain bellowed. His chair clattered back as he all but leapt to his feet. Alistair jumped at the noise and turned in time to see two of the guards snatch Loghain around the arms and hold him back. "These are lies! Howe is dragging me through the mud to better himself!"

"How could I better myself?" Howe snapped. "I am dead either way. At least betraying you I save my family some indignity."

"Loghain, settle down," Teagan's voice flattened the rising tension. "You will have your opportunity to oppose anything said against you and to defend yourself in due course."

"I will defend myself now!"

"You will _sit down_." A snarl curled Teagan's lip. Alistair had never seen his uncle this ferocious. It was strange to witness Teagan, usually so soft spoken and mild, to bare his teeth. But there was a small part of Alistair that took glee in seeing Loghain being ordered about.

Begrudgingly, Loghain retook his seat as it was returned to its rightful place. The guards who held him now stood with a hand on either shoulder.

Teagan nodded at Howe to continue. "In return for... getting rid of the Cousland family, Loghain promised that when Anora took the throne, one of my sons would be married to her. And that the lands once belonging to the Couslands would pass to my own family, once the final member of the family was dealt with. My men attacked under the auspices of mere bandits, a random raid... I'm told Bryce Cousland begged for his life on his knees at the end." Howe's eyes were on Roselyn again and Alistair could feel her trembling in her seat. Her eyes were watering, her cheeks flushed while she had her lips pulled into a severe straight line. Alistair could almost hear the words she wanted to say. The words it was taking all her willpower not to shout. "Alas, those plans went awry when the assassin I hired was caught. As soon as I got wind of that mistake I made for Denerim. Loghain instructed me to oversee things in the Alienage with his Tevinter contacts and when they had their promised quota of able bodied elves, I was to flee with them to the Imperium..."

"And what was it you were overseeing in the Alienage?" Teagan prompted. "What was it that Loghain was doing?"

"He had made dealings slavers from Tevinter to come through an old underground canal which runs beneath the Alienage and most of the marketplace. I believe it was once used for smuggling." Howe was disinterested in his explanation. Even in shackles and looking a shadow of a man, he retained a smug and haughty sense of self worth. His smile, however grim, was not the smile of a man ashamed of what he had done. "The slavers drugged elves and took them from their homes one-by-one after several insinuated themselves into the labourers working on the new buildings and repairs. As for Loghain's plans, I believe it was something to do with cleansing Ferelden of all that was unnatural and foreign. Whatever he was getting from Tevinter in return for his generosity is a secret to me."

"Generosity?" All eyes moved to Shianni at the sound of her outraged voice. "He arranged for _my people_ to be kidnapped! And you call it generosity!?"

"What does it matter?" Howe sneered at her. "You elves multiply like the vermin you are. Your numbers will soon be replenished, I've no doubt."

Shianni's eyes flashed. "You arrogant son-of-a-bitch!" She threw something, a goblet which sailed wide passed Howe's head. She turned her ire on Loghain who was closer. "If they don't give you to the headsman, I'll rip your head from your shoulders myself!" she screamed at him. "If you walk free from this I swear I will make it my life's purpose to kill you with my bare hands!"

"Are you going to allow this to occur, Teagan?" Loghain arched a brow. "For this girl to threaten me?"

"Given your involvement with the disappearances of her people, I think she's entitled to scream and threaten you," Teagan replied with a cool smile. "Honestly, I'm half tempted to give her the opportunity to exact her vengeance once this trial is concluded."

"This is no trial," Loghain snorted. "This is a farce. Beyond Howe's word, the word of a liar, you have nothing. No other proof!"

"That's where you're wrong," Duncan stepped in. There was a jangling of chains and Howe was led out of the main hall. No one spoke while he was removed but Alistair could still feel the atmosphere tense and crushing. So much confusion. The faces of in the gallery and standing, those watching everything unfold were hard to read. Some were angry, quietly simmering or barely concealing their rage. Some appeared puzzled, as if unwilling to believe that the Hero of River Dane could be so callous and cruel. That he could fall so far from the pedestal he was placed upon. Others simply kept their feelings well hidden and watched with stony expressions.

There was an audible gasp when Duncan offered his hand to Anora and she took it, rising with typical grace and poise from her seat after handing Cecily over to Erlina. She stood before the Landsmeet with her hands clasped before her, eyes up and open. Alistair was certain she did not even glance at Loghain, though he tried to get her attention.

"Dowager Princess Anora," Teagan addressed her. "You have evidence to corroborate the details given by Rendon Howe, do you not?"

"I do."

"And there were witnesses to the statement you are about to give?"

"Yes," Anora nodded but her eyes did not leave Teagan. "The night I gave birth to my daughter I was afraid for her life and mine. I sent for Princess Roselyn, not wanting to meet the Maker with a stain on my soul. I wanted to her know that I had nothing to do with the massacre of her family or that Highever. I wanted to tell her what I knew, that the man I once knew as my father is not the man who sits before you now. Roselyn heard everything, as did the mage Fiona, many of my own ladies-in-waiting, the midwives, and some of the palace physicians."

"I see," Teagan pursed his lips. "Would you be so kind as to go into detail?"

"My father has never been quiet about his dislike for the Orlesians, but after Maric and Cailan died his disdain for them became more vocal. He spoke to me of plans we would enact while I ruled as regent. He spoke of wanting to rid Ferelden of everything Orlesian, even people and families. I thought it only rhetoric, never that he would truly want that but as time drew on I... began to doubt." Anora turned her hands over in front of her. "When I heard of the attack on Highever I wanted to believe as everyone else did, that it was a random attack by bandits and that the Couslands had simply been caught unawares. While Alistair and Roselyn were gone I began to doubt that too. It seemed too much of a co-incidence to me, so I sent letters to some of my father's closest confidants and friends asking for their thoughts, updates on their support for my claim to the throne under my father's seal. Many of them wrote back cordial messages of news but some of the responses were... disturbing. Some spoke of having lists drawn up of families in their lands with ties to Orlais, or those who were in support of Alistair's claim..."

"And?" Teagan urged when Anora paused for breath.

"My father has only ever wanted what is best for Ferelden. He lived through the Orlesian occupation and his fears were once founded. Those fears now overtake him and through these letters I discovered the start of plans to instigate a war with Orlais. Not only would he rid Ferelden of everything and anyone remotely related to Orlais, but he intended to rid its lands of elves, and to close our borders to anyone foreign or non-human."

"Did you confront him?"

"I tried. Several times," Anora looked at Teagan. "Each time he rebuffed me until I pushed about his involvement with the massacre at Highever. He threatened me and threatened to take my child away if I questioned or betrayed him. He told me that everything he did, everything he was doing, was for the good for Ferelden. I think I knew then that he had orchestrated, or at least had a hand in what happened at Highever..."

"A hard thing to come to realise," said Teagan.

"I tried so hard to pretend it wasn't true..." Anora turned slowly and her gaze lingered on Loghain. Alistair noticed then that all the fight seemed to have gone from him. All the rage that was there while Howe spoke was now replaced by a deep sadness. Loghain seemed to have aged in the minutes Anora spoke. In the place of a late-middle aged man, but still strong, was someone who looked much older and weary, as if his own clothes weighed him down. "I wish to the Maker it wasn't. But if anything, my father is no longer the man before you today. The Hero of River Dane who fought with King Maric died sometime ago... and a paranoid madman took his place."

"Thank you, Anora." Teagan nodded to Duncan who led Anora back to her seat. He waited until she was settled before he cleared his throat and turned to the Landsmeet. "While you may have doubted the words of Rendon Howe, it is hard to doubt the words of Loghain's own daughter. Though I offer Loghain the chance to defend himself, I believe what we have heard here is most damning."

Loghain stood, though it looked to Alistair like he staggered to his feet. After glancing at Anora, Loghain took a long breath and stood up to his full height. "I am... so very tired," he announced, his voice just audible. "Ferelden has, and always will be, my home and the land I vowed to protect. It seems that somewhere along the way I allowed my own fears to twist my perspective. That has led me to make some questionable mistakes and I now see has cost me dearly... Something I was blind to before." He sighed and shrank a little. "Judge me as you will. I will not question the outcome." He sat again, slumping back into his chair.

Alistair almost felt sorry for him. Anora's words took all the strength and conviction Loghain had from him and now he was little more than a shell. There was no fight in him. He had said he was tired, and looking at him now Alistair could see it was true. Loghain's face was more drawn, the lines appeared more pronounced, his mouth more grim. He was an almost pitiful sight.

"Lords and ladies of the Landsmeet gathered, with everything set before you, it is your decision how Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir should be dealt with." Teagan's voice resonated around the main hall. "Rendon Howe will be executed for his part in the massacre of Highever, the murder of the Cousland family, and the attempted assassination of the Princess Roselyn. But he did not act alone. Teyrn Loghain must be judged and sentenced for the part he played, not just in the destruction of Highever, but in his selling Ferelden citizens to Tevinter slavers as well." He paused and Alistair watched the faces of those people watching Teagan, trying to gauge their thoughts and feelings. "Those in favour of execution I would ask you to raise your hand."

Hands rose. Some quickly, shooting up into the air like an overeager child. Others rose more gradually and some rose only a little, the owner not wanting to be too obvious. Alistair could not count them all fast enough but it looked to him like more than half the room voted for execution. His heart grew faster in his chest.

"Those for leniency?" Teagan waited for hands to rise again. Less than before. Not as many rising quickly to the air. "And those for a full pardon?" No hands, no bodies, no faces moved. Teagan sighed. "Very well then." He turned to Loghain. "Loghain Mac Tir, you have been sentenced to execution by this Landsmeet. You will go with Rendon Howe to the headsman in the morning. You have a choice, the sword or the axe."

"So be it..." Loghain mumbled as the guards around him pulled him to his feet. "Anora..." He looked for her face and found it. Anora had her mouth covered, eyes watering but no tears spilled. "I only hope you can forgive me... All I did, I did for you."

Anora choked on a breath. "Father- !"

"Take him," Teagan nodded to the guards. They marched out, almost dragging Loghain by his feet. When the doors slammed closed the sound echoed and no one spoke. Alistair could hardly breathe and he waited for someone to speak. Someone to move, or for something to happen. It could not be so easy that Loghain would give in like that. He waited, expecting guards stationed around the room to begin drawing their weapons or of a dragon to swoop down, but nothing happened.

Someone coughed to break the tension and Teagan took that as a cue to continue. "Now for the initial reason you were all summoned," he addressed the Landsmeet one more. "The issue of monarch is still in question and --"

"If I might, Teagan," Anora spoke, having composed herself. Teagan bowed graciously and Anora moved to face her peers. "Despite my father's actions, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of relinquishing my claim or that of my daughter to the throne of Ferelden. She is Cailan's blood, the blood of King Maric runs through her veins and --"

"Anora," Alistair spoke for the first time and got to his feet in a fluid motion. Anora stared at him, blue eyes wide as if taken aback by him interrupting her. Alistair's stomach felt heavy in his gut. Every step was heavy and felt clumsy to him. He could feel his heart in his throat, and his hands growing clammy with sweat. "You are friendless, Anora," he said, speaking directly to her and not addressing the Landsmeet. "Without your father you have no support, and those who supported him I have no doubt will do so no longer do so. I offer you an ultimatum. You are Cailan's widow and my sister-in-law, not to mention a friend to my wife. For those reasons, and for the insults you suffered as my brother's wife, I offer you the Teyrnir of Gwaren, as well as the lands of Amaranthine. You and your daughter can retire to either of those locations. You can marry again, or not, whatever you choose. You can live out your lives peacefully, while still retaining power in your own right and the lifestyle you have become accustomed to."

"What is my other option?" Anora asked, lifting her chin.

Alistair swallowed thickly to dampen his throat, "Join your father with Howe in the morning." He felt sick even as he said the words. "Understand, this is not a choice I make lightly. I have no desire to see you dead, but I will no longer cower. You have this one chance. This is not an offer I will make again." He kept his voice steady, his expression still and hard. He would not crumble. He would not renege on his words. The fight for the throne had gone on long enough. Anora's claim was nothing now by comparison to his own. If she bowed out with the grace and dignity she always possessed, she would be safe.

He saw in her eyes a flash of fear. She looked at him as if seeing someone else. Someone different. To Anora he had always been something of a bumbling fool. Now she was forced to look at him and see what he was now, a King. It took minutes, maybe hours, but slowly Anora lowered her eyes and the fight that tensed her shoulders seemed to leave her.

"Very well," Anora murmured. "I have no desire to throw my life away. Nor for my daughter to grow up motherless as I did. And your offer is generous." She looked at Alistair with icy stillness. "Your Majesty, I accept."

Alistair felt a brief sense of relief wash over him. His legs seemed to grow weak, but he held himself upright and steady watching Anora drop to one knee before him. Others followed suit. Teagan and Duncan first, then he saw Arl Eamon do the same. Fiona and Shianni knelt, as did Anora's ladies-in-waiting and the guards. As Alistair turned to view the sea of faces he watched every person drop to their knee before him. He felt strange, tall and foolish. Uncomfortable to be groveled to and to have everyone bowing to him.

He saw Roselyn on one knee too and forgot all about his unease. He crossed towards her and took her hands, helping her rise up to her feet. "Nonono," he blurted out. "Not you. Never you. You never have to bow to me."

She looked at him, confused, "Everyone bows to the King."

"Not you," Alistair shook his head. "I need you to keep me grounded. You can't very well do that if I stand above you, can you?"

Roselyn smiled a little. He saw how exhausted she looked. Her pregnancy and the stress of the day weighed heavily on her. After the Landsmeet was concluded he would make sure she rested and remained undisturbed.

A pole arm snapped on the floor and Teagan's voice followed, "Presenting King Alistair, and Queen Roselyn! Long live the King and Queen!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No word of a lie, this was probably one of the hardest chapters for me to write. Because it's so political. I hope it was enjoyable and not dull.  
> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think in the comments! I have some good news too - in November, I will try to upload a new chapter part every Friday or Saturday. I'm aiming for this fic to be done by in December, and then I can start uploading my new one.   
> So, something to look forward to! I hope. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! As always, I love hearing your thoughts and comments, so please leave them! 'Til next time! <3


	30. Chapter 18: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the execution of the traitors, Loghain and Howe, things are peaceful and arrangements for the coronation of the new King and Queen begin and progress without issue. As the days itself draws nearer, Roselyn notices Alistair seems to be drawing away from her, and a late night conversation helps get to the root of the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to both razerathane and bluvixen for their help and for beta reading this fic. <33
> 
> Chapter rating: Teen

_One month later  
Bloomingtide_

_\---_

 

Roselyn chose not to attend the execution of Loghain and Howe. On the morning it was to occur, she woke before dawn after a fitful night of sleep. Alistair snored beside her, the only noise and comfort while she lay awake staring up at the canopy of their bed. Howe's face drifted across her vision several times. The image of the man he was, who her family once trusted and the man he had become. Drawn, thin, and desperate. She found knew she would find no joy or celebration in his passing. The men responsible for the deaths of her family and many of the inhabitants of Highever were being punished - that was true - But that gave her little solace. Her family were still dead and gone. The death of Howe would not bring them back. She would still never be able to say the things gone unsaid. She would never be able to tell her parents that the arranged match with Alistair was a good idea and that she was grateful to them for it. Her child would never meet its grandparents, or its cousins, or its aunt and uncle. She would not have her mother to guide her through the last months of pregnancy and the labour when it came.

Howe and Loghain had taken something irreplaceable from her and seemed to demonstrate no remorse during the Landsmeet. It felt to her as if there were a gaping hole in her chest, caused by their selfish and cruel deeds. Seeing them die would not heal the wound or even begin to seal it. There was no point watching two old men be brought to death prematurely. She did not want to witness it.

When Alistair awoke she told him she would not go. When questioned, she said the baby had been active all night and kept her up and that it was pressing down on her back, causing her pain. He called for Fiona to check on Roselyn and made excuses for her absence to those waiting.

While Roselyn waited for Alistair to return, she began to wonder if not going was the right choice. The worry she felt was overwhelming, and try and she might she could not find a way to relax. She paced through various rooms in the palace with Fiona trying to distract herself and unable to do so. Her fear was that the execution would not go ahead. That perhaps Loghain or Howe would beg for forgiveness, or Anora would do so on her father's behalf and Alistair would give it. Alistair was not a fool, and not a harsh man by his own nature but the right words might sway him. She had to trust he would follow through with the sentencing, that he would not baulk. She was still afraid. She was not sure if she would be able to feel safe or secure if either man remained alive. She would always be looking over her shoulder, and fearing for the life of her child. Time dragged on endlessly until Alistair returned and took her aside to recount the execution to her.

He told her it was a small gathering; he was there with Duncan, Teagan, Anora, Shianni, and Arl Eamon. The rest of the nobility were kept at bay with the rabble of common folk and they were told collectively once the deed was done. A Chantry Mother administered last rites to them both and they addressed the people gathered when given the opportunity. Alistair told her that Howe begged for his life and trembled as he knelt to await the headman's sword. Loghain, on the other hand, retained a staunch, cold expression throughout. He looked older, and tired, and the only time he showed any emotion was when he addressed Anora directly - but he went to the Maker with the same steadiness and defiance he demonstrated in life.

As a mark of respect and remembrance for Loghain's deeds, there was a memorial arranged at the Chantry the following day. An opportunity for people to remember Loghain as he was, not at the man he became. As far as Roselyn knew, many of the nobles who were in Denerim for the Landsmeet attended the service, as did Anora with Cecily. Only days after the memorial, Anora left the palace for Gwaren without any fuss or ceremony. She told both Alistair and Roselyn that she needed to begin organizing things there and in Amarathine, but would return for the coronation.

After that, the palace resumed its daily comings and goings as if nothing had occurred.

Plans and arrangements were started for the coronation of Alistair and Roselyn and subsequent celebrations. The coronation itself was to take place at the end of the month on Summerday; a dual celebration for the people of Ferelden marking the changing of the season and new monarchs taking to the throne. Celebrations were arranged for a citywide festival, and for all other lands in Ferelden to have fetes and fairs. Merchants were invited from all across Thedas to bring their wares, as were performers and entertainers.

During the month of preparation, both Alistair and Roselyn were fitted for new clothes for the event and both had their heads measured for crowns to be made up, and for the previous crowns belonging to Maric to be refitted for Alistair's head. Jewellers came to discuss what kind of chain Alistair would like to compliment is coronation clothing, and the kind of jewels Roselyn would like to wear.

At first Roselyn found it exciting, but it rapidly became very tiresome and overwhelming as the weeks progressed. Every time the seamstresses came to fit her for her coronation gown they complained and tutted because she'd ballooned in size _again_ and the dress needed to be let out or started from scratch. The first crowns they were given to try were heavy to wear even for a few minutes and made Roselyn's neck ache. Teagan assured both Alistair and Roselyn the real thing would be lighter, but she doubted if that was the case. Every day was more exhausting than the one before it; the quickly growing baby Roselyn carried made it even harder. Simple tasks like lying down or sitting comfortably felt impossible.

Roselyn was resolute though and did her best not to complain. She chewed the bitter roots Fiona gave her to try and quell the constant ache in her back or the intermittent bouts of nausea. She smiled to petitioners when they came and accepted their gifts and the blessings of good health and fortune on the baby when they were offered. When Alistair suggested they delay the coronation until after the baby was born, Roselyn refused the idea, assuring him she could get through it and the day after she would begin to rest more and begin making preparations for the baby's birth.

Teagan kept them both abreast of developments in the plans and arrangements precession that was to take place after they were both crowned. The coronation proper was to take place in the Chantry. Two ceremonial thrones were to be set up for them in order to receive the blessings from the Revered Mother of the Chantry, and to be properly sworn in as King and Queen. They were to return to the palace after a lengthy parade through the streets of Denerim, where those unable to witness the coronation for themselves would get the opportunity to see their new King and Queen.

According to Teagan, the atmosphere in Denerim was jubilant. All reports from his people in the city were positive. There was growing excitement for the new monarchs to be crowned and decorations were already going up on houses to show support. Awnings were up on the eaves of roofs, and windows were being decorated with wreathes of flowers and garlands meant to bring good fortune. Supposedly, the excitement was infectious and the news was spreading throughout the Kingdom. Every day more people arrived for the coronation ceremony, determined to stay and catch a glimpse of the new rulers.

Alistair seemed to take it all in his stride. Now there was no one challenging him for the throne, he seemed cheerful most of the time. He was serious when necessary, and in council sessions he still dealt with the issues brought before him with the same earnestness and determination he had before. He started making changes to the council. Men of his father's council he offered their seats to their sons or daughters, wanting to bring in a new generation and fresh thinking for the future of Ferelden. Both Roselyn and Alistair were surprised by how many of the older council members happily relinquished their positions to their children. They both considered it a positive step.

However, all was not as well as Alistair made it seem though.

More than once in the lead up to the day of coronation, Roselyn awoke to find herself the only one in bed and Alistair's side cold. She found him awake, sometimes pouring over documents and books by candlelight, other times snoring in a chair or sprawled out on a sofa. When she woke him, he brushed her concern off with a sleepy smile - one that was already weary and she could not fight against. If he was awake when she found him, he made a witty remark and fussed over her and the baby until they were both in bed.

The night before the coronation, Roselyn woke to an empty bed once more, grasping her belly where the baby was kicking. It was an almost nightly ritual. The baby seemed to be the most active at night and did not let her rest easily. She often found herself sitting up or pacing around the room, rocking back and forth while stroking her stretched skin, willing the child to rest. That night was no different, and when she realised Alistair was not in their bed she went to find him.

She pulled on a woollen robe to protect from the typical chill of the Ferelden night. The presence chamber of their room was cooler than the bedchamber. A few candles were lit, and on the desk with some of Alistair's papers were a few wooden toys and trinkets for the baby given to them by locals and merchants who had come to pay their respects recently. In one corner was a sturdy oak crib, recently finished by one of the royal carpenters. It was already lined with fine cotton and linen, a wool blanket with embroidery on it was tucked into the edges, and a small stuffed mabari toy made by Shianni sat in one corner.

Roselyn ran her fingers over the finely carved wood as she passed it and smiled, thinking of how soon it would be in use. A quick glance around was all she needed to tell her Alistair was not in the room. She pulled her robe tighter around her and opened the door, stepping out into the darkened hallway. The guards on duty stationed outside their bedchamber stood to attention at the sight of her. The clanking of their armor gave Roselyn a start.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards bowed her head to Roselyn. It was still odd to be addressed as 'Your Majesty'. Every time someone did, Roselyn found herself wanting to correct them. She managed to stop herself most of the time, but somehow it just sounded wrong to her ears. "Is there something wrong?" asked the guard.

"No, no..." Roselyn glanced down the hall and the other way, as if expecting Alistair to turn around a corner. The sconces were lit on the walls, spreading small halos of light at regular intervals to illuminate the way. The windows at either end of the hall were open and uncovered. Moonlight spilled in through one, creating a shimmering silver glow on the floor and casting shadows of the trees outside. "Has Alis... Have you seen His Majesty? He's not in bed."

"He left about an hour ago, Your Majesty," the guard informed her. "We asked if he wanted an escort and where he was going. He said no to the first, and nowhere to the second. Just that he'd be back later."

"I see," Roselyn curled her bottom lip between her teeth. "That's concerning."

"Should I raise the alarm?"

Roselyn shook her head, "No, don't do that. No point causing a fuss. He's probably still in the palace." She turned back to the darkened room and patted her leg. "Roo, come here." The mabari chuffed in response to being called and a few moments later she nudged past Roselyn's legs and out into the hall. Pushing her fingers through her hair, Roselyn stepped through the threshold entirely, closing the door behind her, "I'll go and look for him."

"Should you?" the guard asked, momentarily forgetting herself. Roselyn looked at her, a brow arched. The guard seemed to almost squirm in her armor under the scrutiny. The other guard on duty remained silent and avoided Roselyn's gaze at all costs, staring directly at the wall. "I mean, only... no disrespect. But in your condition..."

"In my condition..?" Roselyn exhaled heavily.

"Should you be wandering the palace? At night? Alone?" The guard glanced at her partner in askance. "Perhaps one of us could escort you?"

"Thank you for your concern. It's duly noted," Roselyn sighed. "But I'm sure I'll be fine. I have the only guard I need." She patted Roo's head at her side. The dog's tongue lolled out of her mouth and she yawned.

"Er..." the guard shifted uncomfortably again."If... if you're sure, Your Majesty."

"I appreciate that you take your station seriously," Roselyn told her with a kind smile. "But do try to relax a little. Hopefully I'll return with my husband in tow." With that, she turned and began to walk down the hall to where she believed Alistair would be.

With her increased weight and size, Roselyn no longer able to walk at her usual speed. She knew the palace backwards now, as well as she had known Highever and could get from room to room swiftly in normal circumstances. Being heavily pregnant, she was slower and had to go gingerly down steps as she was unable to see the next one over her belly anymore. She gripped the banister for extra support and Roo walked at her side.

Roselyn preferred the palace at night. The lack of bustle and people made it an enjoyable and interesting place to look at and explore. It gave her opportunities to admire the craftsmanship of some of the furniture she so often brushed past. Even with the low light of torches in sconces, she could make out faces carved in the stone way up in the corners of the ceiling. Gargoyles, supposedly there to ward off evil and negative forces. Roselyn knew it was nothing more than superstition but she found herself glad for their watchful faces. With everything that had transpired over the past few months, having a few extra eyes on the lookout for evil deeds and protecting those under the palaces roof was not something to sneer at. 

She examined the decorations that were set up, ready for the coronation and the celebration which would take place afterwards in the palace. The walls were draped with sheets of fine silk in burnished gold and scarlet - the colours of the Theirin family and - those were intersected with banners in shining cool grey and deep blue colours to represent the Cousland family. Two families, already joined by marriage, were going to be leading Ferelden into the future. It was an outcome Roselyn never could have imagined when she stepped out of the carriage and saw Alistair for the first time.

To compare the man he was then to who he had become... There were certainly some similarities. He still had his cheeky, boyish smile and the attractive dimples in his cheeks when he flashed a certain grin. His eyes still shone with a warmth neither Cailan or Maric ever possessed. Back then, he stooped a little - whether he knew it or not - as if to make sure he always stood lower than Cailan and Maric, and he was less certain of himself. Never made himself heard or caused a fuss.

Over the last year or so he had blossomed. He stood tall, commanded attention when he entered a room. He was no longer one to shrink away from people - he greeted them on equal footing. He still treated everyone the same no matter their station. Farmer or noble lord, Alistair treated them all the same; with the respect and honesty he expected in return. He was no longer uncertain or afraid as he once was under the glare of Maric and the sniping comments of Cailan. Without them bearing down on him all the time, Alistair was given the opportunity he never had before: the opportunity to grow. And though he would never agree with her, she knew he was a better man than either his brother or father had ever been.

Roselyn's slow trek through the palace brought her to the one place she hoped she would find her husband, and her intuition was correct. The main hall was fit and ready for the coronation celebration the next day. There were banners and laurels tied on the walls and tables pushed to the edge of the room lined with benches. The main focus was in the center of the room, towards the back. Elevated on a platform were two thrones. Roselyn's was on the right, a dark wood carved especially for her. She was given the chance to see it up close in the days before. Carved into the chair back was the sigil for the Cousland family with the Theirin lion artfully intertwined as though it was leaping through the leaves of the Cousland crest mid-roar. The arms of her chair were carved into the shape of a mabari, all the way down to the floor, so it would appear as though she had two of the great hounds guarding either side of her when she sat. Each dog was crafted to perfection, with eyes of amber to make them seem alive. Draped over the seat were fine furs for comfort and warmth.

Her throne, though impressive, was dwarfed by Alistair's beside it. It was the throne Maric once occupied. A huge chair with a high back, far higher than necessary. The wood it was carved from was of the same dark colour as Roselyn's, but it was covered in gold leaf in certain places to accentuate the carvings and make certain images pop when the light hit them. The arms were also carved into the shape of mabari, but the arms of Alistair's throne were simply the heads of the hounds each one with its teeth bared. Across the top of the seat back were horns and bleached bones of a long dead High Dragon. Each bone was so ornately, precisely placed, it was as if the throne itself had a crown. As with Roselyn's chair, Alistair's was smothered in thick furs and skins for decor and for warmth.

Alistair was sitting, not in the throne that the following day would be his officially, but on the floor. In the vast hall with its gallery and vaulted ceiling, he looked small sitting crossed legged in the middle of the floor staring up at the thrones before him. Like a young boy. Perhaps like the boy he once was, being told he was a Prince. Roselyn felt an ache in her chest as she watched him in silence from a side door caught between staying or going. In the soft light of the burning torches around the room it was difficult to make out his expression. She sighed and entered.

"I thought I might find you here," she announced herself to him and saw him jump a little to the sound of her voice. His head whipped around to seek her out and when he spotted her, Alistair's lips curved into a slow smile.

"You should be in bed and asleep."

"A difficult task when this child of ours refuses to rest at a reasonable hour," Roselyn retorted continuing to approach him. Roo trotted towards Alistair and he rubbed her ears in greeting before rising to his feet. "I woke to a cold bed and my husband gone," Roselyn stopped before him. "Again."

"I'm sorry." He took her hands in his. The touch of his skin against hers still made an excited butterfly flutter in her stomach.

Lifting her right hand, she cupped his cheek.  "Have you been to bed at all?" she asked, noticing how he looked down at their hands and not at her.

Alistair scratched the back of his neck, "No. Not yet."

"Alistair..." She fixed him with a disapproving look. "You need to rest."

"I know. But I've been thinking," Alistair told her. "Worried, I suppose."

"About tomorrow?"

"Surprisingly no." He managed a weak chuckle though his nose. "Tomorrow will be simple. Provided I don't fall over myself, or anyone, or insult someone, I think things should be fine. I should feel nervous, but I don't."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I... want to think so," Alistair huffed. "Honestly, I think it's just because I'm more worried about everything else. What comes after."

She waited for him to elaborate, the silence growing between them and becoming heavy. She watched as he tore his gaze from their hands still joined and turned it to the thrones he was staring at when she first found him. More specifically Maric's throne.

"It's a very big chair, isn't it?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Roselyn replied.

"He left some big shoes to fill," Alistair's voice cracked and he swallowed. "I don't know if I can live up to it. Up to _him_. If I can fit into the mould he left behind. It's..." He sighed. "I don't know if I'm ready for something like this. Being King is... It was what Cailan was meant to be. I was told all my life I would never amount to anything. And after I came here that changed to I would never be King. I was the spare. I knew it. I was content. And now... Now I am. I'm going to be King, and I have no idea if I'm going to be any good at it. I don't know if I'll make the right choices. If my choices will lead to war and destruction, or peace and prosperity."

"Nobody knows where their choices will lead them," Roselyn explained. "No one knows if they'll be good at something or not before they really begin. You're not alone in feeling uncertain of that."

"He was also so sure of himself, though." Alistair looked at her, eyes glowing dimly in the low light. "If he ever felt uneasy or doubted himself he never showed it. He was... he was the man all other men aspired to be! Unshakable and... and I don't know if I can _be_ him."

Her brows furrowing, Roselyn reached up to take Alistair's face between her hands, "That's the beauty of it, you _aren't_ him. No one is expecting you to be Maric. You're his blood, but more than that you're _you_. And that is a _wonderful_ thing. It is so much better to be _you_   than to be a copy of your father."

"Is it?" snorted Alistair dropping his eyes from hers. "I'm not so sure." With a long sigh he stepped away from her and out of her reach. Roselyn watched him rock onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels as he paced a few steps towards the elevated platforms and the thrones. He raked his hands back through his hair and scratched his fingers over his scalp several times. "He knew everything. At least he acted like he did. He never hesitated or second guessed himself. Even if his choices were unpopular, he stuck to them. Never baulked. How do you do that? Have such confidence and certainty that the path you're choosing is the right one?"

"You develop it over time," Roselyn replied. She stood where he left her, watching her husband’s posture. "No one is born confident and full of self assurance. Your father made mistakes, just as you will."

"If he did make mistakes then no one talks about them," Alistair huffed a little bark of laughter. "I’m so afraid of doing something wrong. Or disappointing everyone. Of disappointing him." He turned to Roselyn, "which is stupid, isn’t it? He never treated me with any respect or acted like I was worth anything, so why should I be concerned about disappointing him? But I am. It’s like I can feel his shadow looming over me. Everyone is expecting so much of me..." His voice lowered and became small. "What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t be the King they want me to be?"

"Then be the King you _are_ ," Roselyn told him without hesitation. A look of confused surprise flickered across Alistair’s features and she crossed towards him. "Look at everything you've done and accomplished since the day Maric left for Orlais and left you in charge. You stopped ‘acting’ as King as soon as they were gone. Even with all the unrest with Loghain and Anora, you were the one who kept things going. You were the one who met with petitioners and attended council meetings and made all the decisions for the betterment of Ferelden. And even before Maric left, you were doing more for Ferelden's people than he ever did. You’re already a King. You've always been a King. All tomorrow does is cement it officially."

"Rose..." sighed Alistair looking at her. "I wish I had an ounce of your certainty in me. Of your conviction... How do you do it?"

"I believe in you," she smiled and touched his arm. "I have faith in you. The man I married is a good man. A man far better than his father or his brother ever gave him credit for. You’re the _man_ Ferelden needs and deserves in these times of peace and to pave the way into the future. Not just the King it needs and deserves."

"There’s that conviction again." A slow smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He reached out for her and wrapped her up into his arms. Roselyn nestled against his chest turning her face into the curve of his neck. She inhaled deeply, the familiar earthy smell of him making her senses swim. "You’re better than I ever deserved," Alistair murmured into her hair. "I suppose matching us together is one thing our families did right."

"That’s true." Roselyn wriggled for comfort and sighed. "You know, the throne may be large but that doesn’t mean you won’t grow to fit in it." She leaned back looking at the throne while she considered her words. "And the boots your father left can be replaced. The mould you want to fit into can be remade. No one is expecting a second Maric. I don’t think anyone would want a second Maric."

Alistair hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Except during war times."

"We're not at war," Roselyn replied. "And if you're calm and collected and listen to advice when it's offered, hopefully you won't have to ever lead Ferelden through a war. You're not Maric. As far as I know you're not interested in accolades or taking over lands for the glory of Ferelden."

"That's true." He offered a sheepish look, mouth curved into half a smile. Roselyn arched a brow, mildly unimpressed and went to move out of his embrace. He held her fast the half-smile growing into a larger one. "There is one thing that neither my father or Cailan had on their side."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You." Roselyn stared at him, expecting him to laugh and be joking with her, but there was no sign of amusement or mirth in his expression. He was sincere in his comment, his eyes softening as they looked at each other for moments which lingered longer and longer. "I wouldn't be half the man I am without you."

Cheeks flushing white hot, Roselyn shoved him. "You're making fun of me." She would have turned and left were she not so slow and wary of moving too fast, so she simply crossed her arms, too embarrassed to meet Alistair's gaze again. She felt foolish. How after over a year of knowing each other and a year of marriage he could still make her blush with a word. He could still make her chest tighten, and her breath leave her with a look. She always believed those feelings and those reactions lessened the longer a couple were married and the more familiar they were. With Alistair, it seemed to just get worse over time.

"I'm not making fun." He tucked his fingers under her chin and coaxed her to lift her head. "I'm serious. I don't know what you did when you walked into Denerim, but you changed me for the better." He kissed her forehead and Roselyn's skin prickled under his touch. "You should know I'm grateful."

"I..." Her breath shuddered when it passed between her lips and she took a settling breath. "I didn't do anything you couldn't do yourself," she explained. "All I did was give you some support."

"You're selling yourself short, you know?"

"Not really. You would have come into your own eventually, I'm sure. Regardless of whether I was your wife or not."

Alistair chuckled, "Now you're just fishing for compliments."

"Maybe," Roselyn bit her lip tilting her head back to look at Alistair. "A little."

He grinned, "Should I make a speech tomorrow about how amazing you are? How resourceful and intelligent and kind? Maybe I should make a declaration that I'm just going to be sitting on the throne to look pretty and that you're going to be calling all the shots."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Roselyn shook her head. Lifting one hand she cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb along his jaw. Alistair's grin grew smaller, softer, and he turned his head enough to kiss her palm. "Feeling a little better?"

"Yes." He took her hand in his, sliding his fingers between hers. Turning, he faced the two thrones and sighed, running his thumb across Roselyn's knuckles. "It's going to take some getting used to."

"No one ever said it was going to be easy." Roselyn tugged his hand, "but you never need to think you're alone."

Alistair looked at her with a small, warm smile. "We should go to bed." He moved away from the thrones and towards her.

"We should." Roselyn summoned Roo after them, walking at the slow pace Alistair set for them hand-in-hand. The mabari trotted after them her claws clicking on the palace floors.

They walked in comfortable silence back through the palace to their rooms. The guards on duty nodded and straightened when they passed them, and the guards outside their room retained a polite silence. Once inside, Roselyn climbed back into bed, ready to wrestle with getting comfortable again and Alistair changed out of his clothes into comfortable loose trousers. Roo clambered onto the bed, lying across the foot of it in a heap.

"You know, I thought I might wear my mother's amulet tomorrow," Alistair said as he joined Roselyn in bed. "I know it's not part of what's been agreed on, but if I wear it under my clothes then it won't be obvious." He settled back into his pillows. "What do you think?"

"It's a good idea." Roselyn winced while getting comfortable and nudged the pillow which cushioned the swell of her belly into a better position. "Then both your parents will be there, in spirit at least."

"That's what I thought." She saw Alistair smile in the dark. "I wonder what she would have thought of me becoming King."

"I have no doubt she would have been proud of you," Roselyn said. "You should ask Fiona."

"Fiona?"

"Mhm-hm. She indicated some time ago to me she knew your mother. Or might have known her," Roselyn said. "She seemed reluctant to talk about it."

"She never said anything to me," Alistair huffed. "I knew she knew my father but..." He trailed and chuckled softly.

"What?"

"I was just thinking how funny it would be if Fiona was my mother." Alistair laughed again. "I'd be half-Orlesian."

Roselyn smirked, "How frightening."

"I don't know. I could think of worse women to have for a mother..." sighed Alistair. "But it's not possible, I know that. Just wishful thinking." Roselyn saw his body roll over. "My mother is probably dead and all I have is an amulet."

Reaching out to touch him in the darkness, Roselyn pushed her fingers through his hair. "At least it's something."

"True." Another sigh indicating the end of the conversation and Alistair nestled closer. His hand went to lay across Roselyn's belly protectively. "We'll just have to make up for the lack of grandparents for this little one."

"I'm sure we can manage that." Settling into her pillows, Roselyn welcomed the kiss Alistair pressed to her forehead and closed her eyes, ready to allow sleep to envelope her.

He spoke again after a few minutes. "Did you realise we're getting crowned on our first wedding anniversary?"

"Mhm-hm," Roselyn nodded. "I did. Now go to sleep."

"Shouldn't we have a separate celebration for it?"

"Talk to Teagan tomorrow. For now, sleep."

"But--"

"Alistair. Husband, my heart's desire,  I am heavily pregnant, very tired and tomorrow is going to be a very long day. And if you do not go to sleep I will not be held responsible for my actions," Roselyn huffed and considered grabbing a spare pillow to hit him with.

"Sorry, sorry." He laughed and kissed her again before pressing his forehead to hers. "You're so grouchy when you're tired."

"Alistair..."

"I suppose I'll say happy anniversary now, as tomorrow we'll be too busy." He inched closer, pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth and brushed his nose along hers as he pulled away. "I love you. And I'm very happy you're my wife."

Roselyn smiled, "I love you, too. And we can handle whatever comes after tomorrow if we stick together."

"Let's get through tomorrow first," Alistair laughed. "And then we'll start thinking beyond it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Bit of a shorter chapter, hopefully you still enjoyed it. : ) The first of the uploads for November, leading up to the final chapter in December (if all goes according to plan!) Updates will be every Friday or Saturday, depending on what's going on in my life. 
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter. Please let me know what you thought in the reviews/comments. I love hearing your thoughts, they make my day! 'Til the next chapter!


	31. Chapter 18: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the day of the coronation is here and the denizens of Ferelden are out in force to celebrate the crowning of the new King and Queen. With everything going so smoothly, it seems too good to be true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever grateful to bluvixen and razerathane for their tireless joint effort in beta reading this fic and helping me with ironing things out. They have been a far bigger help than I could ever express!
> 
> Chapte rating: Teen

_The next day._

_\--_

The coronation day began early with Teagan knocking on Alistair and Roselyn's chamber door. He was joined by various servants, tailors and seamstresses to make last minute adjustments to their garments. A barber was also on hand to trim Alistair's hair and beard, to make him more presentable. Still in a sleepy daze, Alistair was jostled from person to person after being rudely awakened. Roselyn was handled with more care and they were both ushered behind separate folding screens.

A bath was drawn for him in a large copper tub. The water was almost scalding and was scented with different herbs and oils. One of the servants washed his hair with more vigour and aggression than Alistair was used to, and he was completely awake after the third time his hair was pulled and his head yanked to one side.

"Is this really necessary, Teagan?" he barked at his uncle, who was behind the screen giving orders to the servants who accompanied him. The servant washing Alistair's hair dumped what must have been a bucket of ice cold water over his head to rinse his hair. The water muffled Teagan's reply and Alistair tossed the servant a dirty glance. He could hear the ladies dealing with Roselyn and the tone of his wife's voice becoming sharper with every phrase. Her temper was short at the best of times; currently being ganged up on was a sure way to get on her bad side.

"We're running late," Teagan explained when Alistair stepped out of the bath and from behind the screen wrapped in a towel. "Don't ask me why, we just _are_."

Alistair quirked a brow and leaned back in the chair he was directed to. The barber came up behind him and began to apply lather to his face. "This isn't some ploy, is it? Pretend we're late so we actually end up being on time?"

Teagan offered a small smirk and left the question unanswered. Two servants began to remove Alistair's clothes from where they were hanging, carefully laying out each piece for him to put on in a particular order. "Anora sent a message," Teagan said after a few moments. "She's not coming."

"I didn't think she would," Alistair sighed leaning his head back to allow the barber to access underneath his chin with the straight razor. "I had hoped... for Roselyn's sake."

"She says there's too much to do in Gwaren. That she can't get away and leave all the important business to her steward."

"Hm." Rubbing his chin of the remaining lather Alistair examined his reflection in the mirror. He was shaved a little closer than he normally liked, but it was only for one day and it would grow back. The barber took a comb through his wet hair and started to trim, each snip of the scissors punctuated with an odd little flourish.

Roselyn was primped and pampered behind the screen to hide her away from the eyes of the other men in the room. Occasionally Alistair heard her voice, but she was mostly drowned out by her ladies-in-waiting and the seamstresses who complained about her growth and that they would need to let her gown out another two inches before they could get her into it. He rolled his eyes hearing the disapproval in their tone. She was pregnant, what were they expecting? For her to stay the same size forever?

His own dressers and the tailor were kinder. After his hair was finished and the barber considered his work done, Alistair dressed. His trousers were a soft, rich, dark red fabric which fit close and comfortable. Up the side of either leg was a strip of gold for embellishment. The boots he wore were familiar buckskin leather, shined up to look like new. After tucking in his undershirt and putting on his mother's amulet out of the sight of any servants, he slipped the jacket on over either arm and buttoned it himself admiring his reflection. The jacket was a thicker material than the trousers and was dyed a cream, almost gold colour. Over his shoulder and around his waist he wore a baldric in a rich scarlet. The buttons were gold and there were trims of fur along the shoulders and around the collar. He left two buttons on the collar undone so he wasn't struggling to breathe or swallow. An ornate chain of interlocking flat gold circles, each one intricately decorated with phrases and images of Ferelden’s history, was placed around his neck and neatened until it sat flat against his clothing. It was a heavy thing and Alistair thought it ugly too, but it was a necessary part of the day. It was called the Chain of the King, and he recalled his father wearing it at parades and important dinners. Something to remind everyone gathered who was their King. Maric's was buried with his ashes.

And now Alistair wore his own.

He felt odd looking at his reflection in all his regal finery, almost like it didn't fit right. He could recall the same feeling the first time he wore clothes suitable for a Prince after being brought to Denerim as a boy. The clothes felt too fine for a boy who slept in the stables. These clothes felt too grand for the boy who was told he would never be King.

He tried to see some of his father and brother in his face. Some inkling of them there. He was told all his life he was a Theirin and now he found himself doubting it. What if someone walked in during the proceedings and claimed they were the true Alistair Theirin? What if he was just some imposter, the wrong boy taken at the right time? What if everything was a dream... or nightmare? Would he wake up as the crown was placed on his head and be the six years old in the stables of Redcliffe Castle with the horse master shouting at him?

"Maker," Alistair ran his hands down his face suddenly feeling weak. He reached for a chair and practically melted into it. "Teagan..."

"Your Majesty?"

"Can't we just have a small, private ceremony? Something understated? Something where it's just me, Roselyn, a few witnesses, the Revered Mother and none of..." he waved his hand, "this?"

"Unfortunately not, Your Majesty. Too late now," Teagan smiled. He was clearly enjoying himself. "Breakfast is being laid out in your private chamber; you and Her Majesty will need to eat quickly."

Alistair chuckled, "You can be the one to tell her that."

"Tell me what?" Roselyn stepped out from behind the folding screen, brushing her hands down over the skirts of her dress. Alistair stood up out of his chair, mouth agape. He remembered how he felt seeing her on their wedding day, how he knew at that moment he loved her, and that he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Now he was at a loss for words. She was breathtaking to look at, and he knew once they left the palace, no one would be looking at him. All eyes would be on her, and for good reason.

Her gown was white gold in colour, as if threads of pure gold were woven into the fabric. The collar was cut deep across her chest and lined with delicate pearls which shone in the light. The fabric was embroidered with gold and silver threads, creating a tableau of flowers and leaves along the hem and vines that wound down from her waist. Similar patterns were embroidered onto her bodice - a blooming bouquet taking pride-of-place over where her belly swelled, making certain no one could miss that she carried the future prince or princess of Ferelden inside her. Her hair was carefully styled so only a few ringlets framed her face, and the rest of her hair was kept neatly piled up on top of her head. Some understated hair ornaments decorated with more pearls were slipped into the design.

It may have been the dress, it may have been her pregnancy, but Alistair was certain she was glowing when she crossed the room towards him and Teagan. Alistair looked her up and down several times. His throat felt dry when he swallowed and he could barely hear over his heart throbbing in his head.

"You look magnificent, Your Majesty," Teagan bowed low to Roselyn and took her hand to kiss the back of it.

Roselyn smiled. "Thank you, Teagan. I don’t want to disappoint anyone."

"I don’t think that was ever a possibility, Your Majesty," Teagan stood straight. He jabbed Alistair in the side with an elbow causing him to yelp. "Tell your wife how she looks, Alistair."

"I..." Alistair opened and closed his mouth, cursing that this was the moment words would fail him. "I mean... You look... very nice."

"Thank you, Alistair," Roselyn winked at him and laughed. She adjusted his collar and his baldrick, smoothing it down his chest. "You look very handsome."

Teagan quickly ushered them through to where a small meal was laid out on the table. As they ate he ran through the itinerary for the day. He remarked on those in attendance, who Alistair and Roselyn would need to make time to speak to and those they could choose to speak to. Several ambassadors and diplomats from neighbouring lands had arrived to witness the crowning of the new monarchs - the Empress's cousin was attending in her stead. Delegates from Antiva and from the different cities of the Free Marches had arrived earlier in the week, accompanied by members of the Shaperate from Orzammar sent by their King Bhelen. Alistair was certain he would forget all the names Teagan listed off but chose not to say anything and swallowed deeply from his cup.

After breakfast was concluded, Alistair followed Teagan through the hallways with Roselyn, keeping to her pace. One of the seamstresses followed after her trying to make some last minute adjustments to her gown and snip any loose threads. Guards lined the hallway, saluting and standing to attention with their chins high when he and Roselyn passed them. Servants lined the walls too and the stairwell; the kitchen staff were all congregated in the main foyer of the palace, eager to get a glance as they would be hard at work after the coronation itself. Alistair felt a little awkward, as if a stream of sweat was trickling down his back.

He smiled uneasily at the top of the stairs when Teagan told them to stop for a moment and waved at the staff of the palace. Forced, definitely forced. He stopped waving but then felt uncertain what to do with his hands. He had no pockets to stuff them in, and crossing his arms would look aggressive and like he was bored. Heat burned his face, his ears, and he was certain he was sweating quite visibly on his face and that his discomfort was clear for everyone to see.

Roselyn tucked one hand around his upper arm and leaned close to him on tiptoe. "They want you to say something," she whispered to him kissing his cheek. "Relax. Just remember to breathe."

Alistair watched her turn her attention to the sea of smiling faces, astounded by how easily she fell into the role. She smiled as if it was any other day. Her shoulders were down and she gave of an air of calm radiance. If she was nervous or worried, it didn't show in her expression or her posture. Taking a long breath, Alistair concentrated on the sensation of his lungs expanding, of the sensation of the breath going in and out as he expelled it. He did feel calmer after a few breaths. His heart stopped hammering in his ribcage and he could hear over the blood in his ears. He found his smile, a genuine one this time, and waited for the cheering and clapping of the servants to die down.

When it did, Alistair cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. "Uh, I -- that is, my wife and I thank you for all your hard work in preparing the palace for this lavish occasion," he began. Roselyn gave his arm a supportive squeeze. "I am sorry you won't all be in attendance for the celebration afterwards, but I will make sure you're all properly thanked and paid well for your extra effort and diligence." Another cheer and more applause. Teagan gave an approving nod and began to lead the way down the stairs and towards the open doors. On the way down the steps, the servants lining it bowed or curtsied and offered blessings of the Maker and Andraste on Alistair and Roselyn.

Outside, waiting in the courtyard was the carriage that would take them to and from the coronation ceremony at the Chantry. It was dubbed 'the King's Carriage' on account of its lavish decoration and the rich scarlet interior. Alistair could recall only ever seeing it used once in his whole life: on Cailan and Anora's wedding day to transport them back from the Chantry to the palace. The four horses harnessed to it were rich chestnut colours, each with different markings on their hooves and faces. Their coats were brushed until they shone and their manes and tails were intricately decorated so not a hair was out of place.

Alistair helped Roselyn into the carriage and followed her inside sitting on the opposing seat. Teagan closed the door behind him, said a few words that Alistair barely heard, and then climbed up onto the front seat with the driver. The carriage lurched for a moment when the horses were given the direction to move and the uneasy sway did not make Alistair's small breakfast sit any better in his stomach. He swallowed deep breaths of air to settle himself. Without speaking, Roselyn reached across the carriage to take his hand - a silent gesture of support and comfort she knew he would need repeatedly to get through the day. She peered out the window as they left the gates of the palace with only a secretive smile on her lips. Alistair kissed her knuckles and looked out the windows, watching Denerim pass them by.

The carriage went through the main streets of the city, the same route it would take back. People were already out in their droves, lining the cobbles to catch a glimpse of the future King and Queen of Ferelden. In the distance Alistair could hear the bells of the Chantry tolling cheerfully but the sound was almost completely lost under the cheers and cries of celebration. He watched people throwing bouquets of flowers and different grasses under the wheels and feet of the horses. People waved, children ran alongside the carriage a few metres at a time, trying to keep up with the regular trotting speed of the horses; and through the shouts Alistair heard people call 'Blessings of the Maker' over and over again.

Every shop and house was decorated. Awnings hung from the eaves of some buildings, others had decorative garlands around the windows and doors. Some had flags of Ferelden hanging from the windows and others had the banners of the Theirin and Cousland families blowing in the soft wind of the day. Alistair couldn't help but smile. The feeling of joy and celebration given off by the people, _his_ people, was infectious. He waved from the window, knowing a glimpse of him or Roselyn would not be enough to properly thank the people for their kindness. He made a note to mention to Teagan that once the celebrations were over and life returned to normal, he wanted to go out into the city and meet people face-to-face. He did not want to rule them from afar as his father had. He was born as 'one of the people' and had lived much of his life considering himself just 'one of the people'. Having a crown was not going to change that, and with the unrest of recent months he was not able to venture out and speak to the workers and families directly as he used to.

The largest crowd of all was the one gathered outside the Chantry itself. It appeared so large that Alistair doubted there was anyone still within the city proper. Guards were assigned to keep order and to keep people back - a precaution more for their own safety as no one wanted a stampede or chaos to break out. When the carriage came to a stop, Teagan climbed down from the front seat and opened the door with a large smile on his face. The bells of the Chantry were louder now but still the din of the crowd muffled them. Guards in their best livery and shining gold ceremonial armour lined the stairs leading up to the Chantry. The Revered Mother who would be crowning them waited at the top of the steps in her robes of state.

A cheer arose when Alistair stepped out of the carriage, making him jump. He waved to the crowd for a moment before holding his hand out for Roselyn to help her down. The sound the crowd made when she stepped from the carriage made the cheering for Alistair sound like silence. It was deafening. A mixture of clapping and feet stomping, whooping, whistles, and voices raised in celebration. Roselyn lifted both eyebrows, surprised at the noise and joy that greeted her. Alistair grinned before kissing her soundly.

"They adore you," he said to her, audible only to her over the noise surrounding them.

"I think they like us _both_ ," she retorted sweetly.

Alistair grasped her hand and turned to face the crowd as the carriage moved aside to wait until it was needed once more. Roselyn stood demurely at his side, waving briefly before stroking circles over her belly. Alistair gave the crowd his attention until Teagan tapped him on the shoulder and indicated with a small nod up to the Chantry doors. Reluctant to leave the people who had come out to see him, but knowing in less than an hour he would reappear crowned and King officially, Alistair began to climb the stairs with Roselyn.

It might have been the longest stair climb of his life. Every step felt like it was a mountain to traverse. Alistair's feet grew heavier and heavier the closer the Revered Mother's face became. His heart pounded like he had run circuits around the palace, blood flooding his mind and deafening him to even the Chantry bells. The corners of his vision went a little cloudy. Beyond the Revered Mother, through the open doors of the Chantry, he could see people standing, an ocean of faces looking expectantly at the doors, waiting. Waiting for him.

Once they entered the Chantry there would be no turning back. He would not be able to halt proceedings and change his mind. He would enter as the bastard child who became a Prince, and he would emerge as the King he was told he never would be. His life had changed exponentially in such a short time. He was a husband, a soon-to-be father, he had peacefully put down a royal coup, and now he was going to be crowned as King of Fereldan. He would rule a country, rule and care for its people. He would be his father-

No, not his father.

The man his father _could_ have been.

If his father died before he met and married Roselyn, Alistair doubted he would have made it this far. If Maric had died before she saw and nurtured the strength inside him, the strength he knew was there but was too uncertain and lacked the confidence to embrace, Alistair was certain he would have given in to Loghain and Anora. He would have never put up a fight. He would have bowed out gracefully and watched as Loghain controlled Anora and ran Ferelden into the ground. Roselyn would never admit it, and never accept his praise, but Alistair knew in his heart of hearts that she was the reason he was here. Through everything they both endured over the past year they supported one another and accepted the best and worst parts.

He _could_ be King because he wouldn't be alone. He had a rock in Roselyn. A friend, a lover, someone with the honesty, wisdom, and kindness that would help him. They would help each other. Their wedding vows specified _'this is a marriage of equals'_ and it was true. They were equals. They were going to rule together... And that thought, that certainty, made his fears dissipate. He looked at her, saw her waiting patiently for him and listening to the Revered Mother make friendly small talk while Alistair gathered himself. Without warning he curled his fingers beneath Roselyn's chin, turned her head and tilted it up swallowing the surprised gasp as he pressed his lips to hers. He curved one hand around her face, twisting tendrils of her hair around his fingers and sighed when he broke the kiss. He pressed his forehead to hers, scrunching his eyes closed.

"I _love_ you," he murmured, hoping the depth of his sentiment was tangible through his words. "In case I don't say it enough." He opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

Roselyn chuckled her cheeks colouring pink. "You say it more than enough," she assured him. "But that doesn't mean it loses its meaning." She brushed her fingers through his hair, a simple gesture that almost had Alistair quivering. She watched him, eyes on his, bright and shining. "Ready to do this?"

Alistair's breath shuddered when it passed beyond his lips. "I think so," he swallowed and grasped her hand. "Are you?"

"Think so," Roselyn nodded and laced her fingers between his.

"All right." Alistair puffed his cheeks out and turned his attention to the Revered Mother who was waiting quietly, a kind smile on her elderly face. "We're ready when you are."

With a slight nod, the Revered Mother turned and faced inside the Chantry. Teagan eased past Alistair and the Revered Mother disappearing down the long central aisle to the far end of the Chantry, where there was a series of steps where he and Roselyn would kneel for a blessing, before carrying on up to the ceremonial thrones. A few minutes ticked by. Alistair fidgeted with the collar of his jacket and his buttons. He found a stray thread and occupied his fingers by winding and unwinding it. The Revered Mother said nothing. She was calm and collected, and beside him Roselyn kept an almost serene expression, though she constantly seemed to be rubbing her belly.

Just as Alistair was wondering if they were going to move, a bellow of sound erupted from inside the Chantry. Music, a processional marching tune provided by a small band of performers all dressed in Chantry robes and conducted by one of the sisters. The Revered Mother moved first. She took one step, two, three, four. On the fifth, Alistair took his first step into the Chantry, his pace matched by Roselyn at his side. He held one arm extended and she rest her hand on him gently.

The Chantry was decorated as much as the palace and the city was. Long drapes of shimmering white-gold hung from the rafters of the holy building pulled across the expanse of the ceiling and attached above the stained glass windows creating a sky of gold. A scarlet carpet was rolled out along the central aisle of the Chantry all the way to the steps. At the far end, hanging down the back wall, was the familiar sunburst symbol of Andraste embroidered onto a white standard. It hung above a statue of Andraste herself carved from white stone, her hands extended. The bowl she held contained a small flame burning and swaying blown by unseen draughts.

Alistair could not recall the Chantry being such a long building. It felt to him like hours before he and Roselyn even got close to the steps. He cast worried glances in her direction with every other step, making sure she was not falling behind. She managed to keep her face still enough, though he could see the occasional wince. The baby would choose _now_ of all times to be active.

In the congregation of faces Alistair saw many he knew. He saw Aveline, the guard who had been in charge of things in Highever when he and Roselyn visited. She was standing to attention in gleaming silver armour, the woven leather band around her head. He saw the faces of council members, old and new. Many were stepping down to allow newer members to take their place - members who were more Alistair's age with younger minds and new ideas. Alistair nodded or smiled politely to those he caught the eye of. He would mingle with them endlessly later. Towards the front of the Chantry he saw Shianni, bedecked in what he assumed were her best clothes. She was well dressed in a simple linen dress, tucked at the waist and decorated with simple but pretty embroidery. Her hair washed and tied into the familiar cluster of short ponytails. Beside her was one of the elves Alistair recognised from the docks, one of the ones they had rescued. They both smiled when Alistair caught their eyes, though Shianni's smile was more a half-smirk and she crossed her arms.

In the front row sat Eamon in his best clothing, his wife Isolde was with him, her eyes fixed firmly ahead. Alistair could not recall a kind word from her mouth. The fact that she attended the coronation surprised him. On the other side of Eamon, closer to the aisle, were Duncan and Fiona. Duncan wore ceremonial Grey Warden armour, the traditional silver and blue colours of his order glimpsing through small gaps in the silver breast plate and gauntlets. At his hip hung a blade - Alistair also assumed it was ceremonial - and on the breastplate was carved the Grey Warden griffin, rearing back on its hind legs. Fiona's traditional navy circle robes were replaced by robes of a richer colour. A deep green which made her skin almost shine, and brought out the colour in her eyes and cheeks. She smiled when Alistair caught her eye. Her short dark hair was neatly styled and clipped to one side. She clasped her hands together before her at her chest, just concealing the way she bit her lips into her mouth. She looked on the verge of tears and as if she was swelling with pride.

Standing beside the steps was Teagan, his hands behind his back, standing straight with his chin high and a proud smile on his face. Alistair wanted to break into a run and clasp his uncle in a hug. Through everything, even his childhood, Teagan had been the one constant. He had never wavered or doubted, and now he would be the one to place the crown on his head. Alistair could not have picked a better man for the job, or a better man for the duty of being his head councilman. They nodded to each other when the Revered Mother came to a halt.

Beside Teagan stood four soldiers in full armour, shining as if engulfed in holy light. Each one held in their grasp a scarlet cushion lined with gold trim. On two cushions were crowns. One made of gold and silver, adorned with pearls and encrusted with diamonds. The other made entirely of gold and jewels shining blood red around it. The other two guards held long folded capes made of scarlet material and lined with fur - robes of state. Alistair had only seen robes like that close once, when he was officially legitimized as a Prince. Maric had worn full official regalia then so no doubt could be thrown on Alistair's birthright.

The music stopped with a simple gesture of the Revered Mother's hand. Before Alistair and Roselyn knelt, she announced to the filled Chantry the reason they were there, her voice carrying a surprising amount for someone so frail. She commanded attention, lifting her arms and hands skywards as if invoking the Maker to come directly into the Chantry to bless the ceremony about to occur.

Alistair went to his knees when the Revered Mother indicated for him to do so. He kneeled on a red velvet cushion which was laid at his feet by one of the Chantry Sisters on hand to assist. He offered a hand to Roselyn and Teagan helped her down to her knees since her pregnancy made moving more difficult. He saw her grimace while she tried to smooth out her gown and managed to shift a few inches closer to her without attracting the Revered Mother's attention. He ghosted his fingertips along the back of her hand, caught her eye and offered a supportive smile. Roselyn returned it with a small smile of her own and breathed out hard, blowing curls of hair away from her face.

"Maker," Alistair jumped a little when the Revered Mother spoke again. He faced dead ahead, frowning when the elderly woman placed her hand on top of his head, "it was Your will that brought these two people together in blessed wedlock."

_Actually, no. That was our parents doing._ Alistair bit the inside of his cheek to stop from speaking.

The Revered Mother continued, her voice echoing around the Chantry, "Maker, it was Your will that called King Maric and Prince Cailan to your side. And it was Your will that our beloved Prince Alistair should ascend to the throne. Here, on this blessed Summerday, all here will bear witness to Your will being done. Here, today, we will crown our new monarchs under Your watchful and loving gaze. May their actions be Your will."

As she removed her hand from his head, Alistair managed not to ruffle his fingers through his hair, instead clenching them into the palms of his hands. She indicated for he and Roselyn to rise and then guided them to the simple ceremonial thrones at the top of the small set of steps. They sat in unison and Alistair  watched the revered Mother cross to Teagan and take from him the small crown encrusted with pearls and diamonds. She held it in both hands and it appeared to Alistair she hardly gripped it within her fingertips.

"Noble Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, do you submit and pledge your loyalty in the eyes of the Maker to Roselyn, daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, wife to Prince Alistair?"

A collective answer, almost like a grunt came from behind, "We do."

Alistair watched the older woman carefully bring the crown down and place it upon Roselyn's head, holding it in place while Roselyn lifted her head to meet the Mother's gaze.

"Do you, Princess Roselyn, swear to follow the Maker's will in this position of authority being bestowed upon you? Do you swear to uphold the Maker's law? To follow the path and example left to us by his own bride, Andraste? Do you swear to do all in your power to protect Ferelden, and to loyally serve her people?"

"I so swear," Roselyn's voice and expression were unflinching. She did not even blink when the Revered Mother practically jammed the crown onto her head for extra security. Alistair's chest felt tight when he saw her glance his way before dropping her eyes demurely to the ground.

"And so I crown you, Queen Roselyn." There was a polite echo of applause while the Revered Mother returned to Teagan and took from him the larger, more imposing crown of gold and blood red stones.

Alistair balked watching her approach him, his skin suddenly going cold and his palms sweating. He felt all blood drain from his face and a coolness break out across his brow. Time slowed, his breathing all but came to a stop, and he watched with wide eyes as the Revered Mother lifted the crown above his head and recited the vows to him. His mind distorted her words, her voice. He knew the answers to her questions and what to say, but it suddenly felt like he was hearing things as if submerged underwater.

He blinked his eyes hard, once, twice, a third time and inhaled deeply. He concentrated, breathing and counting. _In slow... Out slow... In... Out..._ If he blacked out at his own coronation he would never live it down. He swallowed, dampening his throat feeling the gulping sensation all the way down his gullet. He rubbed his palms as discreetly as possible on his trousers and closed his eyes to clear his head.

"...and pledge your loyalty in the eyes of the Maker to Alistair, son of King Maric and brother to Prince Cailan?"

The same droning response came from behind him. "We do."

He felt the crown on his head, its weight still being mostly taken by the Revered Mother holding it. It touched his hair, and the metal was cool where it pressed his hair flat and sat against his skin. The old woman's fingers brushed the tips of his ears. He hoped she didn't notice their pointedness. She changed the pressure of her hands, an invisible gesture but one Alistair followed, slowly lifting his head to meet her eyes. He had not looked very closely at her when they first entered the Chantry. She was a kindly looking woman, slight, frail, but with a warm, open face showing lines of a life well lived. Her expression at first was drawn and serious but it slowly moved into a small, supportive smile, as if she sensed Alistair's fears churning inside him. She offered him a small nod of her head.

"Do you, Prince Alistair, swear to follow the Maker's will in this position of authority being bestowed upon you? Do you swear to uphold the Maker's law? To follow the path and example left to us by his own bride, Andraste?" she spoke slowly and steadily. Alistair watched her mouth make the words, heard the sounds and was grateful that she was not rushing. He could feel himself nodding confirmation to her questions. "Do you swear to do all in your power to protect Ferelden, and to loyally serve her people?"

He opened his mouth and the words came out without him thinking, "I so swear."

The Revered Mother smiled. Alistair felt the full weight of the crown on his head when she removed her hands. It was heavier than he expected but sat comfortably enough. He was glad he would not be expected to wear it all the time. "And so I crown you, King Alistair."

Stepping back, the elderly Mother stood between the two of them flanked by Teagan and the two guards carrying the folded robes of state. Teagan took one and walked around behind Alistair, draping it around his shoulders and then did the same with Roselyn's. The robe weighed more than the crown. Wearing the two of them together, Alistair felt encumbered, like his steps would be slow and sluggish.

Still smiling broadly, the Revered Mother indicated for the two of them to rise. Alistair was on his feet first and quickly broke decorum to assist Roselyn in standing. Closer he could see a small trickle of sweat slip down her neck beneath her gown. She clutched the hand he had offered tight in her fingers, knuckles almost white. Dread wrapped around Alistair's stomach. He could not ask verbally what was wrong but the sheer panic Roselyn was trying to control in her expression was enough for him to guess.

They turned together to face the waiting people inside the Chantry and the crowds outside. Half-grimacing, Alistair searched the faces quickly for Fiona. She was no longer in her chair, instead having walked up one of the side aisles. She was almost lost among the people all standing. He managed to catch her eye for a moment before she disappeared behind someone's rotund belly.

Unaware of Roselyn's discomfort and his own growing concerns, the Revered Mother formally announced them. "Ferelden, I present to you King Alistair and Queen Roselyn. May the Maker bless their reign."

Applause and music swelled, both fighting to drown out the other. Teagan led the way back down towards the doors of the Chantry, a slow precession where Alistair forced smiles to all those he could see trying to push his anxiety down into his stomach and not allow it to show on his face. When they stepped out of the Chantry into the bright daylight of Denerim, the noise was louder than before they went in. Cheers erupted, people stomping their feet, bellowing, calling, whistling, and offering their blessings. People threw garlands of flowers and grasses, some bouquets, and some single blooms. The guards keeping the crowd at bay struggled against the waves of people of vying for a look at the new King and Queen.

Holding her hand, Alistair could feel Roselyn's grip growing tighter and tighter. Her face, however, was a picture of refined grace and gratitude. She smiled, nodded, and bobbed into small curtsies while waving with her free hand. Her cheeks flushed pink and the small layer of sweat on her brow were the only signs that she was unwell. Alistair held her fingers and squeezed. They would be back at the palace soon. For now, Alistair did as Roselyn did. He smiled and waved, bowed and nodded to people whose eyes he caught. So many people had come out to see them, to witness the crowning of the new monarchs. He did not want to disappoint them or leave anyone upset.

The amount of time they spent at the top of the stairs waving and smiling was a mystery to Alistair. At one point, the Chantry bells began tolling a joyful tune, and he was sure the sun moved, but he was not certain the length of time or what time it was when the carriage came into view drawn by the same horses as before. Taking his cue from Teagan who gestured when to move, Alistair led the way down the steps to the waiting carriage. The guards holding back the crowd created a wide berth for the horses and a clear path for the carriage to move through. People tossed their remaining flowers under the wheels and hooves of the horses, their applause and celebration never dying.

Roselyn climbed into the carriage first. Alistair followed her and Teagan climbed up onto the driver’s seat beside the driver. The carriage lurched with the first few feet of movement. Roselyn grabbed onto the plush seats with both hands, pain flashing across her face. Alistair changed seats to sit beside her. All joy of the celebration had gone out of him, overwhelmed by worry and concern. He tucked Roselyn against him, one arm around her waist. With his other hand he brushed tufts of her hair away from her face.

"The baby?"

"I think so," Roselyn scrunched her eyes closed. The carriage began to move more smoothly. Buildings and people started to pass by in a blur.

"It's not coming is it?" Alistair asked, cold fear tossing his stomach and the small amount of food he had eaten that morning. "It's too soon."

"I don't know," Roselyn took a sharp inhale through her nose. "Alistair, it _hurts_."

"We'll be back home soon, Rosie," Alistair kissed her brow. "Hold on." He took one of her hands in his and she squeezed it.

As the palace drew into view, Alistair shouted up to Teagan to bring it around the back of the building. He did not want the guests already there for the celebration to see Roselyn in such a state, or to cause unrest. The carriage swung around, following the path to the gardens and the stables. When Teagan jumped down and opened the doors to ask why the change of plan, Alistair saw his words fail in his mouth and his eyes widened. With astounding speed, Teagan began giving orders to servants and grooms all a little confused in the sudden change of arrival. Someone ran to find Duncan who arrived with Shianni and Aveline in tow. Together they were able to escort Roselyn to her and Alistair's rooms. Fiona was already there inside the room.

Lingering towards the back of their bed chamber, Alistair paced the same path over the carpet while Fiona examined Roselyn thoroughly on the bed. Teagan, Aveline, Duncan, and Shianni left as soon as they knew Roselyn was in safe hands. Alistair derobed and put his crown to one side after removing Roselyn's robe of state and putting her crown on her vanity. He heard the hum of healing magic, saw the cool green-blue glow emanate from Fiona's palms along Roselyn's legs and her belly. Roselyn lay back, supported by pillows and after only a few minutes appeared less distressed and in markedly less pain. Fiona wasn't quick enough to hide the smear of blood staining Roselyn's underskirt. Panic gripped Alistair's chest like a vice.

The two women spoke in hushed voices for a minute or two. Alistair was sure he didn't breathe until Fiona summoned him over.

"Is the baby coming?" he asked, voice strained and frantic. "Do we need to get the midwives? Cancel the celebration?"

"Not quite, Your Majesty." Fiona smiled. She looked tired, like the use of her magic had sapped her of some energy. "The Queen experienced what's known as a false labour. It can sometimes happen when the baby is getting close to being born."

Alistair stared at her for a moment, "The baby's not coming yet?"

"No."

"And Roselyn and the baby are alright?"

"Yes."

He all but collapsed onto the bed in relief. "Thank the Maker." His limbs loosened and he could swear he could feel the sensation of blood rushing around his body.

"There's more," Roselyn ran her fingers through his hair. He looked at her and saw softness in her face, replacing the anxiety and panic of before. "It's important."

Sitting and turning to Fiona he gave her his full attention, while holding Roselyn's hand, rhythmically stroking her knuckles. "What is it?"

Fiona clasped her hands together. "False labour usually occurs when the baby is nearing it's time to be born. Not every woman experiences it, of course. Every woman is different. It can happen in women who have had children before or never.." She looked pointedly at Alistair, her gaze flicking to Roselyn and back.

Alistair narrowed his eyes somewhat. He stared at Fiona, the words filtering through his brain. Shifting, his eyes moved to Roselyn, her belly, and back to Fiona, "...And?"

"It is my suggestion..." Fiona grimaced. "Though the Queen is young, fit and healthy, given this scare-"

"Fiona thinks I should begin my seclusion sooner, rather than later," Roselyn concluded, meeting Fiona's eyes before smiling at Alistair. "And I agree. I don't want to be caught unawares. And, I don't want to take any unnecessary risks," she rubbed the swell hidden by her gown, "I think it best for all of us if I stay out of anything that could be over stimulating."

Scratching the back of his head, Alistair released a long breath in a whoosh, his cheeks puffing out as he did so. He rubbed his face in his hands before speaking to Roselyn, "You sound like you've made up your mind."

"Do you mind?"

He quickly shook his head, "No, no. Of course not. I want you to do what's right for you and the baby." After a pause he continued, "Will you begin it now?"

Fiona spoke up. "I thought it best for the Queen to rest for a few hours. She could come down to the celebrations later if she feels strong enough, and then perhaps announce her seclusion in a week or so."

Alistair turned to Roselyn for confirmation. She nodded several times, a small rueful smile curving her mouth.

"All right, then." Climbing off the bed, Alistair kissed Roselyn's brow. "You rest. I'll come up in an hour or so and see if you're awake."

"I'm sorry to leave you to mingle alone," Roselyn brushed her fingers through his hair and down his cheek.

"Don't be." He kissed her palm. "I can fend them off for now."

"Yes, you can." Roselyn inclined her head and Alistair met her lips halfway, smiling into the kiss. She curled her fingers around his ear, her nails tickling the sensitive skin. "Do try to enjoy yourself, Your Majesty." Her nose wrinkled when she grinned.

"As Your Majesty wishes," Alistair replied with a broad smile. Another kiss, and Alistair left the bedchamber with Fiona, closing the door soundly behind him. Even from beyond the heavy main doors of their rooms he could hear song, merriment and the low hum of chatter echoing up from the main hall. He was not much in the mood to celebrate now, his stomach a knot of worry and his mind frazzled, but it would be remiss of him to not attend the celebration for his own coronation.

"There's nothing you can do for her at the moment, Your Majesty," Fiona spoke to him from the main door. "Although I know it's difficult, try not to worry. It was a false alarm and both she and the child are strong and healthy."

Alistair chewed his lip, "What if she has it again? And she's here alone?"

"There are guards outside, and if you send up one or two of her ladies-in-waiting, I'm sure they will notify you if anything should happen." She held the door open for Alistair. Beyond he could see the armour of two guards stationed outside.

"You sound so sure of yourself," he said, passing her as he crossed the threshold into the hallway.

Fiona offered a cryptic smile, "I have seen my fair share of pregnancies, Your Majesty. And have studied it extensively." She closed the door behind her and nodded politely to the guards. "I am likely better qualified than most midwives. But my magic and my heritage mark me as a danger."

"I'm sorry," Alistair said, walking at her pace. He felt the weight of his mother's amulet around his neck for the first time that day. The metal suddenly a cool reminder on his skin.

"Quite alright," Fiona smiled again. "It is something I have grown accustomed to." They walked in silence for a short while. Alistair felt words bundling up on his tongue, questions without answers. Answers that perhaps Fiona knew. His mind wandered back to the conversation with Roselyn the night before. How Fiona might have known his mother. His chest tightened. How could he ask? "I should say I received word from the White Spire, my Circle."

"Oh?"

She walked with her head down, her hands clasped before her and her shoulders forward making herself smaller and unobtrusive. Alistair frowned. He wanted to tell her to hold her head high. She was a mage, an elf, and a woman of unparallelled intellect in his opinion. She should show pride. But he doubted that was smiled upon in Circles, and a life time of making oneself small was not easily unlearned.

"They asked me to return, saying I have been in Duncan's service too long." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Given the circumstances with Her Majesty, I will write back and tell them I am needed here. Unless that is too presumptuous?"

"N-no. Not presumptuous at all," Alistair fumbled. "I'll write to them myself, if it will help."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary, but I will keep it in mind," she nodded in a polite bow. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

They moved through the hallway towards the main stairs in silence. A heavy, crushing weight sat in Alistair's mouth and on his chest. Questions screamed in his head, and around his neck his mother's amulet felt like a noose tightening around his throat.

"Fiona," he almost bleated her name and cleared his throat coming to a stop. She gave him her full attention, face open, eyes warm. "May I ask you a... a question? It's of a sensitive nature."

He saw a change in her immediately. Her expression, while still warm, held a guardedness that was not there before. Her brows twitched, hardening her face a little and her eyes narrowed only slightly. He saw her shoulders square up, her body go tense. Alistair's stomach sank.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Fiona said graciously. "Whatever you wish."

Leaning back and rocking on the balls of his feet, Alistair arched his head back and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. He waited for his mind to settle and clear, thinking of his words before he spoke them. He wet his lips, mouth quirking to one side. If she knew his mother as Roselyn believed she did, then now would perhaps be the only opportunity he would have to learn anything about her. Of course, Fiona could know nothing. Or know details that would only ruin the image of his mother he had created in his mind. He wrestled with himself, with his conscience whether to ask or not and found his hand grasping for the amulet underneath his clothing.

"Roselyn seemed to think you knew my mother from a conversation the two of you had," he said very slowly, trying to gauge from miniscule movements on Fiona's face how she felt. She retained the same guard, not a single eyelash moved. "...Did you?" he asked her lamely.

For what felt like a lifetime Fiona said nothing. Alistair expected her to turn and walk away from him. Perhaps he was stepping on sensitive territory. Or he might have been scratching and reopening old wounds by asking. He did not know. But he had taken the step to possibly finding out more.

"I did," Fiona said eventually. "I knew _of_ her. By sight only, I never learned her name." Her voice was cool, almost detached. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh. I, uhm..." It took him a few seconds of struggling but he was able to lift his amulet off over his head and from underneath his clothing. He held it in his hands as if it were a priceless jewel. "I knew nothing about her. My father never told me anything, though he said he was going to before he..." Alistair cleared his throat. "I hoped, maybe, you could tell me something about her? If not her name then what she looked like?"

Fiona gave a subtle shake of her head, "She was young and was swept up in the flattery of the King. A man who made promises and did not keep them." She spoke as if they were discussing the decor of the hallway: matter-of-factly and with harshness in her tone.

"I... I see." Alistair closed his hands around the amulet. "Nothing else?" He looked at her, hopeful and trying to swallow the hard lump in his throat.

"She loved you," Fiona told him, a softness breaking through her voice. "And she would be immensely proud of the man you are now. To see you happy and building a life of your own." She inhaled slowly as if to settle herself. "I... believe giving you up was the hardest thing she ever did."

"She gave me up?" repeated Alistair. "I was told she died."

"Eventually, as do we all," Fiona explained. "She gave you up at the behest of the King to Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. As far as I know she asked only that the King keep you safe and provide for you in a way she could not. She asked too that your true heritage be kept from you..." Her lips moved into an embittered smile. "A request which was ignored, obviously."

"The Arlessa," Alistair remarked. "She liked to remind me I was a half-elf bastard... I doubt she ever expected to see me crowned."

"Why do you cling to her?" Fiona asked him. Her question took him by surprise and he blinked at her. It was a question he had asked himself several times growing up. Why _did_ he cling to a mother he never knew? Whose face he never saw and whose name was never given? Why was a stranger, a blank space in his memory, so important?

"I don't know," Alistair answered after a long silence. He ran his thumbs over the face of the amulet. "I want to hope there's some of her in me, I suppose. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Fiona's stance relaxed. "But may I offer you some advice?" She placed her hand over Alistair's, obscuring the face of the amulet. "Let go."

"What?" Alistair stared at her. He felt like the wind was gone from his chest and there was a painful prickling behind his nose that he fought to ignore. Fiona's expression was soft again, kind, almost sad and regretful.

"Take it from an old woman, Alistair, dwelling on the past brings nothing but heartache and disappointment. Why spend your life chasing what is behind you, when there is so much ahead?" She moved closer and placed her free hand on his cheek. With her thumb she wiped away a tear beading in the corner of Alistair's eye in an almost maternal way. "I do not say this to be cruel, but you will waste your life away wondering about shadows in the past. Your mother loved you, and would be proud of you." Fiona's breathing hitched and Alistair was sure her chin was shaking. "She would be... _so happy_ to see you so well loved and with such a bright future before you... She would not want you to spend your life dwelling on her memory."

"You sound--" Alistair cleared his throat and sniffled. "You sound like you're speaking from experience," he chuckled feebly.

"We all have a past, Your Majesty." She dropped her hand from his face and opened the space between them by stepping away. "Bury your past as you bury your dead, _please_. Mourn the woman she was and the woman you have imagined her to be. Mourn, and let go." Without another word, Fiona bowed her head and left, walking at a brisk pace down the hall and towards the celebration.

Alistair almost stumbled, reaching for the wall to support his weight. He pressed his back against it, head back and clenched his eyes closed breathing to fill his lungs with air. His hand clenched around his mother’s amulet, and he felt the weight in his palm and the metal of it on his skin. She was right - he knew that. Ruminating on the past, on a person he never even knew, would destroy him if he could not walk away from it. He needed to walk away from it. For his sake. For the sake of the family he was soon to have. He could love the woman he conjured as a child, the woman he imagined on cold, dark nights in the stables where he only had the horses for company. He could love the image he created, but that was it. He could not - _would not -_ spend his life focused on the past. He would not do as Loghain had done and be so fixated on the past that he would miss what was happening now.

His mother, whoever she was, had loved him. It was enough to know that. To know that he had not been responsible for her death with his birth. He was the bastard son of a King and an elf, and now he was King. He never imagined himself there and he doubted his mother did either. Fiona said she would be proud of the man he was. He hoped that was the case.

Draping the amulet around his neck, Alistair tucked it beneath his jacket once more to hide it from view. He straightened his coat, relaxed his shoulders, and ran his hands through his hair. The past could not hold his focus any longer. Not when there was so much in his future to look forward to.

Calm, his heart beat steady and his breathing even, Alistair walked the rest of the hallway, drawn towards the sounds of celebration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee! Finally done with the coronation! Sorry if readers are disappointed with the outcome of relationship between Fiona and Alistair; I wanted to keep things faithful to the canon where he doesn't know the truth. If it makes any difference, he has suspicions but it's not exactly something you can come out and ask!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I certainly did though it was a hard one to write. Coronations are hard!!  
> Please let me know what you thought! I love reading your comments, and I will do my best to reply in a timely fashion! <3  
> On to chapter 19!!


	32. Chapter 19: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after being crowned, Roselyn enters her less-than-traditional seclusion under the watchful eye of Fiona and her midwives while preparing for the birth of her child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of repeating myself for the umpteenth time, I owe a huge amount of thanks to my beta readers, razerathane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) who have helped with this fic from the beginning. I'm not sure if I could have finished it without them.
> 
> Chapter Rating: Teen

_One month later._  
Mid-Guardian  
\--

Per Fiona's advice, Roselyn began her seclusion barely a week after the coronation. She and Alistair formally announced her descision  to the nobles and foreign ambassadors in the palace, while Teagan sent out missives to the Teyrnirs and Arlings to be filtered down. Fiona was in charge of Roselyn's care, and the best trained midwives were sent for from Denerim to assist her.

Traditionally, seclusion meant being shut away for the last months of pregnancy, denied all entertainment and most company save for her ladies-in-waiting and midwives. Roselyn could recall her mother describing her own seclusion when she was pregnant with both Roselyn and Fergus. Eleanor was shut in one of the larger guest bedrooms of Highever at the time, the windows were covered so not too much air or sunlight entered. She said it was stifling and frightfully dull. Oriana endured the same treatment when waiting to give birth to Oren and, Roselyn reasoned, Anora went through the same thing.

She did not want to be cooped up in one room like a caged animal and refused the traditional seclusion endured by so many other women of noble birth. And she would not be moved or swayed from her decision. She knew she would go mad if she was effectively trapped within four walls. She also knew if she and Alistair were separated they would both be miserable and would likely sneak out to see each other. She remained in their rooms, refusing to be moved to a different part of the palace. Because of that, she avoided having to be hidden away in a darkened room with boards over the windows. She even managed to convince the midwives, with Fiona's assistance, that being kept indoors would not be healthy overall for her or her unborn child and was allowed to walk the gardens and spend time outside during the day when the weather was warm and when she felt particularly well.

All Roselyn's seclusion really denied her was anything overexciting. She did not attend council meetings, though Alistair kept her abreast of matters of importance and they discussed things that transpired every evening. She attended dinner in the main hall only a few times, usually choosing to eat in her rooms away from eyes and gossip. Whenever he had a moment to spare, Alistair visited her, fussing over her and spending countless minutes gleefully speaking to the child she carried, constantly reminding it and Roselyn how excited he was to meeting their son or daughter soon. It reminded Roselyn of their early courtship, catching glimpses of each other and brief interludes alone before they returned to their responsibilities and roles.

Alistair blossomed into the crown placed on his head. All worry and anxiety he carried with him in the weeks prior to the coronation only made him work harder and want to do better - to do all he could and do it well. He dismissed the members of the council who had assisted his father, but did it with kindness and grace. Sons and daughters of those old members took up their places, bringing fresh ideas and new thinking determined to prove worthy of the priviliage bestowed on them. Alistair kept Teagan and Duncan on hand for guidance and to rein in any over-eager and brash ideas.

The palace was alive and bright, even cheerful it seemed. It was like the shroud of loss and mourning that hung over it since the deaths of Maric and Cailan was finally being dropped. Ferelden was entering a new age, one of hope and full of promise. Roselyn was a part of that new age by being Queen, a role she never expected to hold.

In the quiet times where she found herself alone and without focus, she wondered what her parents would think of her now. Would they have ever imagined their daughter as the Queen of Ferelden, or that she was as happy and as loved as she was? There were still days when she woke and, for a brief wonderful moment, forgot that they would not be there for the birth of her child. That her mother would not hold her hand through it and that her father would not be there to offer advice about fatherhood to Alistair. Those were blissful seconds, private and precious before reality hit and she remembered the truth. They were gone, and though she would have familiar faces around her when the birth happened, none of them would be family, and that hurt her deeper than she expected.

Some days were harder than others, but Roselyn found new focus in preparing for the arrival of the child, and she would keep her parents alive by telling it and any future children about them. Just as Alistair intended to keep Maric's memory alive - the _real_ Maric - by telling their children about him. Those they had lost would survive through them.

As Bloomingtide rolled into Guardian and the summer days grew longer, Roselyn spent less time outside, finding walking for long periods increasingly difficult in the high heat. She spent most days in flimsy night dresses or the loosest clothing she owned. Being bound and tied into gowns was time consuming and uncomfortable, not to mention unnecessary if she was not meeting anyone or seeing anyone. She slept more, or at least tried to. The heat made her uncomfortable and she spent many hours each night trying to get comfortable, keeping both her and Alistair awake. He did not complain even as Roselyn did. He tried to help when she allowed him to, and when she was too fed up or on the verge of tears he stayed awake and comforted her until she could sleep.

The end of her pregnancy drew nearer, and Roselyn was looking forward to it. She would miss parts of it. Feeling the baby kick was a sensation she never tired of - even when the kicks or jabs caused her pain - and it still excited her when it happened. But she would not miss being unable to see her feet. She would not miss the slow walking speed and the discomfort in her back. She would not miss the contractions and cramps she felt intermittantly since her false labour. She certainly would not miss being unable to sleep. She was impatient for the baby to arrive; the novelty of pregnancy having worn off long ago. Now she just wanted it to be over and to have her child in her arms.

After a fortnight of blazing sunshine and heat foreign to Ferelden, it broke. It began to rain late in the evening, dark grey clouds coming as if from nowhere to obscure the sun as it set. Roselyn watched servants run out into the gardens to enjoy the refreshingly cool downpour, catching the heavy rain in their mouthes and getting soaked through in seconds. She sat by an open window for a while after dinner, relishing the few droplets that landed on her face. When lightning began flashing and thunder roared soon after, she retired to bed with Alistair.

The thunderstorm carried on well into the night. Alistair fell asleep quickly, his hand protectively across Roselyn’s belly and nestled close to her. The heat and noise seemed not to bother him. Roselyn watched the regular flashes of lightning when they shot down from the sky. She counted on her fingers the seconds between the lightning and the rumbles of thunder. Between the silence of each roll of thunder she closed her eyes, willing for sleep.

Pain began to build gradually. A familiar dull ache centralised in Roselyn's back slowly stretching forward like clothes fitting too tight; it was a pain she had felt before and it was almost constant for several weeks. She ignored it as best she could, as she had done so before, breathing through it putting it down to indigestion or the baby simply moving and pressing down on her insides. This time however, the ache grew worse, becoming akin to a squeezing, clenching sensation - almost as if being clasped in a fist - before it receded back into the familiar dull feeling in her lower back. The first wave forced Roselyn to curl her legs up into her body as close as possible and breath through the ache. She remembered the coronation day. She felt the same things then and managed to get through it without incident by breathing. Alistair slept heavily and did not stir when she inched away from him in bed, pushing the covers back for more air.

She waited, watching the lightning, listening to the rain, the thunder, and Alistair's soft, steady snores. Unable to close her eyes, she waited for another bout of pain, another clench, another jolt to rush up her spine and assault her senses. It came as she began to think that she only imagined it the first time. The same ache slithered from behind her to in front. Her stomach hardened under her hands and she bit her bottom lip hard against the waves that seemed to smother her from all sides. As before, it passed with swiftness, lasting only minutes.

On unsteady feet Roselyn climbed out of bed, grabbing one of the bed posts for support. After collecting herself she crossed to a wash basin in the corner of the room and filled her hands with cool water, which she splashed over her face and the nape of her neck. Droplets slid down her back beneath her clothing and clung to her eyelashes. She stood in silence and as still as possible, caught between wanting to return to bed and remain standing. The ache in her back was not as pronounced when she was upright, but she was _so_ tired.

When third wave came over her after perhaps twenty minutes, Roselyn pressed her hands down onto the small wash stand, pushing all her weight into the object. She was sure she heard it creak as she clasped her fingers around it and clenched her teeth, hissing through them. She felt the same crushing, twisting, squeezing sensation as she did when lying down, but it was not as centralised. It ran down her legs, into her feet and the floor, almost grounding her. She swayed unsteadily when she moved one hand to press against her belly willing herself to stay calm.

Three more. She lasted three more floods of pain, each one a little worse than the last, coming a little quicker than the one before it and punctuated with involuntary sounds of complaint. The agony was making Roselyn feel light headed and sick. A moan vibrated through her from her chest and she could feel tears beginning to spring in her eyes. Panic began to clutch at her chest - the baby was coming, but it was too soon! She had another month left, at least. However, as a sudden rush of liquid ran down her legs pooling around her feet, she realised she could not risk being wrong and if the baby was coming, there was little she could do to stop it.

Steeling herself and trying to quell the unease rising inside her, she went from the wash stand to the foot of her and Alistair's bed with some effort and grasped the foot of the bed in white-knuckled hands. Alistair was still sleeping, arms sprawled out over the mattress, one foot sticking out of the covers, peaceful and unaware. She was reluctant to wake him, knowing how much he needed his rest after long days of council meetings and greeting petitioners - but at the same time she wanted his comfort, his voice, and his reassurance. She needed him to tell her that all would be well.

"Alistair?" She batted his foot with her hand. Nothing. "Alistair?" She tugged on his limb and he stirred, grumbling but not fully awake. "Alistair!" She smacked his calf and he jerked awake with a start.

"Hmnf? Wha--?" She watched him look to the side for her, his eyes widened when he realised she wasn't beside him and then calm when he spotted her. "Ro--" He yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Rosie? What are you doing up?"

Roselyn opened her mouth, closed it, wrapped both hands around the foot of the bed and leaned as far over it as possible. Her hair fell forward curtaining her face. She felt her belly harden again, and a tight, squeezing pain ebb out from her back. She groaned and whined, her palms growing sweaty and her grip becoming lax. She did not see or hear him moving, but Alistair was suddenly beside her, his hand rubbing circles on her lower back. He pushed some of her hair back behind her ear and lay one hand over hers. Roselyn grabbed his fingers between her and squeezed, scrunching her eyes closed.

It felt like the pain was lasting longer and longer, each new wave lingering what felt like a lifetime but was probably only seconds. As it receded and Roselyn's mind cleared, she was grateful to feel a cold cloth on the back of her neck and Alistair wiping away the sweat causing her hair to stick.

"I'm going to send for Fiona," he told her, his voice quaking a little.

"Nono." Roselyn grabbed his wrist. "Don't go."

"I'm only going t--"

"Don't leave."

Alistair helped her straighten up. When they faced each other he swept her hair back from her face and ran the cloth he grabbed from the wash basin over her forehead. Roselyn hadn't realised how hot she was until then. "I'm only going to the main door to tell the guards to send for Fiona. I'm not leaving you. I'll be back in seconds. I'll leave the bedroom door open so you can see me," he spoke with calm steadiness that took Roselyn by surprise. She expected him to be a bag of nerves when the baby eventually came, and her the calm one, not the other way around. "You think the baby is on the way?"

Roselyn nodded, "I don't know. It could be a false one, like before." Her heart was in her throat, pulsing regularly while she embraced the period of respite between rounds of pain. "I don't want to bother Fiona if it is."

"I'm not taking that risk." Alistair kissed her forehead. "Don't move." He pressed another kiss to her forehead before going to their bedroom door. "Roo!" He called for the mabari who appeared lumbering through the threshold and going straight to Roselyn's side. "Good girl. Stay with Rose, bark if something happens."

Roo gave a deep chuff in Alistair's direction and planted herself by Roselyn's feet.

Holding onto one of the posts of the bed, Roselyn watched and waited while Alistair went to the main door of their chambers, spoke in low tones to one of the guards, closed the door again and returned. His hand went to her lower back, rubbing again in small circles. "What can I do?"

"Fiona will probably need light."

Alistair nodded. "Do you want to lie down?"

"No." Roselyn leaned over the end of the bed again feeling the now familiar sensation of pain beginning to circulate again. "No. It's not so bad when I'm standing."

They waited. Alistair offered a hand to hold and murmurs of support while Roselyn rode out another wave of pain, this time openly making noises of complaint. Once it passed, he lit candles and helped Roselyn tie her hair back so it was out of her face. The candles, coupled with the summer warmth would make the room stuffy again. Alistair opened the windows but kept the curtains half drawn at Roselyn's request.

Fiona arrived with her hair a ruffled mess. With her were two human midwives, both looking as though they had been dragged from deepest sleep when they were summoned. A Chantry sister followed the trio, and two of Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting, each one carrying armfuls of linens, towels and cloth. Before saying anything to Roselyn or Alistair, Fiona indicated to the bed and the ladies went to work. They pulled away the thick covers and blankets, replacing them with the clean white sheets they carried. They puffed up Roselyn's pillows towards the headboard and stepped out to the presence chamber to give Fiona and the midwives room, and to wait until they were needed.

The midwives put their own tools on Roselyn's vanity, unfurling a leather pouch filled with metal implements. Roselyn recalled seeing a few of them when Anora was in labour and now blanched at the thought of them being used on her. The women began to clean them thoroughly, talking in low voices; and nearby the Chantry sister began to murmur the Chant of Light with her hands clasped. Roselyn felt sick. She gulped down mouthfuls of air trying to quell the nausea brought on by the pain. Her sweat trickled down her forehead, dripping off her nose and into the linens.

"Tell me what's been going on," Fiona said. Her voice was kind, calm, but firm. She was in control of herself and determined to extend that control to the situation. Roselyn felt Fiona's hand on her upper back and the cooling sensation of her magic spilling from her palm seeping into her skin. The ache dulled a little and for the first time in what felt like hours, Roselyn managed to breathe without pain. Alistair continued to move his hand in small circles over her back and pressed the cold cloth to the nape of Roselyn's neck, giving her a moment of relief from the heat.

"It's like before," she said to Fiona, glancing at her from beneath her eyebrows. Even with the light from the candles, Fiona's eyes were glowing. "Only worse. So much worse." Roselyn clamped her hands around the board at the foot of the bed.

Fiona helped Roselyn to move, slow steps so they were facing each other. She placed her hands over the swell of Roselyn's belly, smoothing and feeling with her expression pulled into one of thought, her mouth pulled into a thin line.

"How long has it been going on?"

"A while," Roselyn explained, glancing at Alistair who shrugged. "I've been having pain for days, but nothing like this. This has been perhaps a few hours? It started shortly after we went to bed."

"Alright." Fiona led Roselyn back to the bed and helped her to lie with her back and shoulders propped up against the pillows. Roselyn stared at the canopy above her, the embroidery and details while Fiona hitched her night gown up to her her hips and entered into a fast paced discussion with the midwives as they began to examine her. Alistair perched on the edge of the bed beside her, hands in his lap looking lost. Roselyn reached for his forearm then his hand when he offered it. He looked drawn and exhausted already.

"Can I do anything?" he asked her, his voice appearing to catch a little. "I feel so useless."

"You're not useless," Roselyn smiled softly at him. "I don't think there's much you can do for now." She grimaced, squeezing his hand and jerking forward with a moan of pain. She forced herself to lie back, the pain washed over her like ice water. Hairs all over her body stood straight and she heard herself groaning while digging the fingers of her free hand into the sheets beneath her. Alistair placed one hand gently on her back. He returned her grip so she could feel it and was ready with a cold cloth again when the pain passed.

"Rose?" He pushed her hair away from her face and neck with the cloth. Roselyn panted, arching her head back and swallowing thickly. Her mind felt fuzzy and she closed her eyes listening to the voices of the people around her over the rapid pulsing of her heart beat. "Fiona? What's happening?"

"The baby is coming." Fiona told him. "For certain this time."

"Right..."

"But, she's not ready yet. Her Majesty's waters have broken but her body hasn't quite prepared itself..." There was a silence, one that was awkward and caused Roselyn to open her eyes and look between Alistair and Fiona. The two of them were staring, not speaking. The mage eventually spoke first, "Are you sure you want to be here, Your Majesty? This is quite a harrowing experience for the mother and... you may find this quite unsettling."

Alistair squinted. "What kind of question is that?" he almost snarled. "I'm staying. Unless Roselyn asks me to leave."

"Stay," Roselyn murmured. "I want Alistair to stay."

"Very well," Fiona nodded sagely and turned her attention completely to Roselyn. "There will be some time before you can start really doing much. At the moment your contractions are preparation for when you need to begin to push. We may be waiting some time."

"Can you relieve the pain?" asked Alistair.

"Magically, yes. And there are herbs Her Majesty can chew to help. But relieving the pain may make it more difficult to judge when it's best to start pushing," Fiona answered Alistair, but kept her eyes on Roselyn. "It may be difficult, but I would suggest staying upright as much as possible for now."

"Standing?" Alistair clarified. "Is that wise?"

Roselyn shifted, pushing herself to sit up. "It wasn't as bad standing." She eased her legs over the edge of the bed and curled her toes into the rug on the floor. She breathed deeply through her nose gathering her strength. "I can manage." With some effort she got to her feet. Alistair supported her swinging one arm around her back beneath her arms. Roselyn put her weight on him as if injured until she could steady herself by grabbing a post of the bed.

"Very good, Your Majesty," Fiona nodded.

"Please call me Roselyn. Your Majesty takes too much time to say," Roselyn smiled.

"As you wish." Fiona pushed her fingers through her hair. "You can lie down if you feel the need. But try to walk around if you can. Slowly. Take your time as there's no rush. It will be a very long night."

Roselyn paced the same pathway from the bed chamber to the presence chamber and back over and over. Alistair remained a constant figure at her side, offering his hand to hold or placing a comforting hand on her back when the contractions came and went. The thunderstorm stopped and the rain slowed to a drizzle before moving on completely. Roselyn noticed one of the candles in the bedchamber was almost burned down to a stub when dawn light began to peek through the dark clouds of the night.

The two ladies-in-waiting took it in turns to sleep for an hour or so. The one awake was at Fiona's beck and call and that of the midwives, coming and going with clean sheets, and replacing basins of hot water gone cold. The Chantry sister stopped reciting the Chant of Light after completing it for the second or third time. She sat away from the main bustle of movement and Roselyn was grateful for the silence.

Her feet hurt from the pacing and her body was on the verge of exhaustion. She could see in Alistair's face the tiredness and lack of sleep already taking its toll too. He looked almost gaunt, and drawn. A mixture of concern, panic, and sleeplessness all to blame. He smiled though, every time he saw her looking, and rebuffed her concern for him with more worry for her. Fiona too, did not look as alert as she did when she first arrived. She was at least calm and discussed quietly with the midwives at various intervals. Every hour or so they examined Roselyn in a group, another few minutes of sheer humiliation where she would lie back and try to count the stitches on the embroidery in the canopy. Then those minutes with pass with nothing being done and Roselyn returned to pacing.

Sunlight filtered through the clouds as dawn slipped into morning. Servants began to awaken and begin their daily tasks. Out the window, Roselyn could hear gardeners going about their duties. Many of them whistled to themselves and called out to one another in greeting. Smells from the kitchen began to infiltrate the room. Roselyn wasn't sure if her stomach growled or if the sensation was just an after effect from a contraction.

Eventually she was too tired to stay standing. She could feel her legs shaking, ready to buckle at the slightest bit of unsteadiness. She retired to her and Alistair's bed, fighting through the additional pain caused by the position she was in. Alistair remained at her side. He took it upon himself to keep her sweat at bay with a damp cloth, and to offer words of encouragement when she was doubled over, groaning through the pain.

No one had ever told her it would be this bad. Watching Anora in labour with Cecily was one thing, but Roselyn fooled herself into believing Anora's age played against her and that her clear panic made the birth worse. She was wrong - immensely wrong. Age had nothing to do with it. Neither did panic. This was no easy task, and no amount of preparation would ever have readied her for the waves of agonizing pain radiating from different parts of her body. There were parts of her she never knew existed that were in pain, as if trying to share the load. She worried for herself, for the life of her child, and found herself wondering how her mother and Oriana had done it twice, let alone once.

Her mother.

Roselyn pushed her head back into her pillows and closed her eyes in the period between contractions. If she concentrated she could see her mother clearly in her mind. Tall, an intelligent face, sharp eyes. Always watching, always reading people. Her mother was many things, some of them unpleasant, but she had cared deeply about Roselyn and now, more than ever, she missed her. There was no way Eleanor could have done anything to speed up the process, but just having her there, Roselyn was sure, would have made the whole experience less frightening. She imagined Eleanor on the bed with her, cuddling her to her chest as she did when Roselyn was a child after a nightmare or when she was sick with a fever. She had been a tactile woman, and no matter what decorum dictated, she would have been there with Roselyn through the whole ordeal. Hushing her, smoothing her hair away from her face, and being a forth voice in the conversation and discussions the midwives were having with Fiona. She would have taken control, maybe even have had a plan in place before the baby was born. It would have been enough for Roselyn for her parents to see their grandchild, her first child.

Thinking of her mother made the tears Roselyn was managing to keep at bay spill from her eyes and down her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and wiped her face with one hand as quickly as possible, hoping no one noticed.

When she opened her eyes to look around the room she saw Highever. Her room in Highever. She could smell the limestone, the heather, and the sea. She saw her familiar trappings surrounding her. Clothes and furniture, a large sheepskin blanket at the foot of her bed. She heard Fergus laughing, Oriana's gentle voice chiding him for something. Her father was there, his face a warm smile while he lingered at the foot of her bed leaning against one of the posts. He nodded, though said nothing and she watched him depart through the door without opening it.

"No, wait--" Roselyn struggled to sit up straighter, her plea weak.

A cool hand lay on her forehead prompting her to lean back. She followed the line of the hand and the arm with her gaze, blinking slowly and trying to bring the person into focus.

_"Your Majesty?"_

Roselyn frowned, her brows furrowing deeply. The face didn't belong to her mother. Nor did the voice.

"Mo... mother?" Roselyn managed to mumble. "Where is my mother?"

"Your Majesty..." The face became clearer and Roselyn realised the cool hand was Fiona's and that magic was spilling out from her palm on to her forehead. They stared at each other, Fiona's pale eyes intense and sharp, filled with worry. "Your Majesty?"

She tried to fight it, but Roselyn felt her face crumbling and the tears springing again. She covered her face in both hands, her body shaking under the sobs she forced herself to control. It wasn't enough. Even as she tried, the sounds she made hurt from the depth from which they came. They were muffled by her hands but now there was another, more keen ache in her chest, and she allowed herself to be pulled into Alistair's arms.

"Oh, Rose..." He smoothed his hands down her back, kissing her hair and pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. "I'm so sorry." She buried her face into his chest to hide away from prying eyes and sobbed.

The hours dragged on without any progression. Roselyn's contractions remained a steady stream, neither quickening up nor slowing down. She managed to get up and walk around a few times, before she gave up and chose to remain in bed. Even a few circuits of the room had depleted what little energy she managed to recoup by lying down. Everyone in the room was restless. Tempers were fraying slightly. The midwives were snapping and sniping at each other, accusing one another of moving things and implements. Fiona barked at them both whenever their bickering began. Alistair told the Chantry sister more than once to stop reciting the Chant when she started up again. The shifts of her ladies-in-waiting changed too. They brought clean water and waited to be asked to do something, staying awkwardly in the presence chamber beyond the door and keeping Roo company. The mabari paced in between the rooms, frequently ushered away by the midwives when she tried to climb onto the bed to be with Roselyn. Teagan came and went, asking if there was news he could deliver to the courtiers waiting anxiously to know if they should celebrate the birth of a prince or a princess. He left disappointed each time.

The candles had sputtered out sometime around mid-morning. Even without their warmth the sun was quick to heat the room. It was already bad with just Alistair and Roselyn in the room. With an additional four people adding to it, it was stifling and without a breeze the windows just acted as a way in for flies and other insects.

Roselyn's nightgown, her skin, and the sheets underneath her were soaked with sweat. She wanted a bath, a very cold bath to wash away the heat and grime. She never asked for one. When she considered it, and considered suggesting to Fiona that perhaps the baby wasn't actually coming and everyone should go have a rest while they could, the baby had other ideas.

Without much warning the contractions grew worse and Roselyn twisted her hands into the sheets beneath her with each one. She sat up, pushing down into the bed with her body weight, and practically snarling through her teeth. Fiona was alert within seconds, her hands on the swell of Roselyn's body and calling back to the midwives something that Roselyn couldn't catch through the pounding in her head.

When it passed, she flopped back into her pillows breathing hard and quietly obeying when Fiona and the midwives asked to examine her more closely. Fiona hitched Roselyn's night gown up to her hips and Roselyn was only vaguely aware of the coolness of Fiona's healing magic running along her thighs and her calves. She felt heavier in her back, pain a regular pulse now spreading around from her lower back and over her belly. She was accustomed to it, she wondered if it was always there and she just never noticed it before.

"Maker be praised..." One midwife murmured stepping away and beginning to organise her tools. "What a troublesome child."

"What?" Alistair looked at the three women on the other side of the bed for clarification. "Is something wrong?"

"It's _finally_ decided it wants to be born," Fiona explained, wiping her hands on a cloth. "It shouldn't be too long now."

Alistair pressed his forehead to the side of Roselyn's temple. "Hear that? Soon, Rosie, soon!"

"Mmhm." Roselyn grit her teeth, leaning forward as the urge to push down again flooded her senses. "Soon isn't soon enough," she half-growled and half-laughed breathlessly through her nose. Alistair grabbed one of her hands and she squeezed, digging her nails into his skin. He reciprocated enough that she felt his strength and his other hand on her back. With her free hand still twisting in the sheets, she felt the fabric rip where she was holding.

The urge passed again and Roselyn pressed back into the pillows supporting her. Her vision swam, dark spots blinking in the corners of her eyes. She breathed hard to catch her air, feeling her lungs burning with how fast she tried to fill them. Fiona handed Alistair a silver cup of water which he put to Roselyn's lips. She drank a few sips before letting her head fall back into the pillows.

"You'll want to listen to your body and what it's telling you to do," Fiona explained, placing her hands on Roselyn's belly. "You're already pushing without me telling you, so you're clearly well in tune with yourself."

"It's not giving me much of a choice," Roselyn replied, managing a weak smile. "What comes after this bit?"

"Actually having the child," Fiona said. "That's usually the worst bit. But it's over quickly."

Alistair moved Roselyn's hair off her face. "What if this goes on for the rest of the day?"

Fiona pursed her lips looking hard at Alistair, "Then we may need to consider a surgical intervention. For the sake of the child and Her Majesty."

"Surgical?" Alistair repeated. "As in..."

"Like before Cecily was born. She righted herself eventually." Fiona explained matter-of-factly. Roselyn's skin grew cold at the thought of being cut into. She felt a more sickly sweat covering her face. "But I do not think it will be necessary. So far, everything is proceeding as it should."

"Hours of pain is normal?" queried Alistair. Fiona shrugged and nodded. "Why does no one ever mention these things?"

"Because," sighed Fiona, "then I doubt any woman in her right mind would have a child."

Roselyn lurching forward put an end to their conversation. A deep groan ripped from her throat while she tangling her feet in the sheets and her fingers tore more holes in the linen. She pushed down into her legs, muscles straining and blood filling her face until it was burning. The midwives at the end of the bed spoke to each other and peered up from between Roselyn's legs offering coos and murmurs of encouraging upport. Roselyn fought against the urge to kick them away, though she was sure a leg twitched in what must have been a small, aborted attempt.

Alistair shifted closer as the pushing urges ebbed away again, and Roselyn dropped her head back into the pillows behind her panting to catch her breath.

"You know," Alistair said, brushing her hair away from her temple. "Something occurs to me."

Roselyn closed her eyes. "Oh? What's that?"

"We haven't considered names." She glimpsed his small smile when she opened her eyes a little. He was trying to find a way to distract her, to keep her mind occupied beyond the present and focus it to the near future when this part would be over and they would have their child in their arms. Roselyn appreciated the effort. If she wasn't a trembling mess afraid of what the next few minutes or hours would bring, she would have kissed him. Instead she ran her shaking fingers over the back of his hand and the marks her nails had made in his skin.

"We haven't," she agreed, managing tired smile. "Did you have any in mind?"

"Well, now you mention it!" Alistair grinned through his worry and tiredness. It was forced, Roselyn recognised that, there was no way to fully disguise his concern. But his smile was warm and it was a relief for her to see it. "I think, if it's a girl then a name like her mother's is in order."

"Two Roselyn's'?"

He chuckled, pressing his lips to her temple. "I don't think Ferelden could handle two Roselyn's." He pushed her hair behind her ear. "But a similar floral name. What do you think?"

Roselyn's answer died in her throat, her mind awash with pain again as she leaned forward and held herself down. Alistair gripped her hand, Fiona and the midwives huddled around her and all talk of names faded.

The day drew on. Sunlight diminishing behind clouds and reappearing when they passed by. Servants came and went. Teagan arrived and spoke to Alistair once more, briefly. Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting changed shifts once more. By the late evening the sky was a navy blanket outside the window, with spots of orange and pink on the horizon where the sun was setting. Roselyn wasn't sure what the time was, or how long the ordeal had been going. And it was an ordeal. Her body was wracked with pain from the top of her head to her toes. Her fingers ached from where she clenched them around the sheets so often. No matter what she did she struggled to catch her breath. She was hungry, exhausted, her throat was raw from her yelling, and she could hardly think beyond the haze of confusion that was her mind.

Even if she could ask Fiona and the midwives how things were progressing, she didn't need to. She could read on their faces that they did not have a positive outlook. Their discussions were going on longer and longer, huddled in the corner away from her ears and Alistair's. At one point they sent one of Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting on an errand and did not disclose to either Alistair or Roselyn where she was going. They didn't have to say. Fiona had mentioned the possibility of surgical intervention, and now it seemed it was the only option left to them.

After drinking from the cup Alistair held to her lips, Roselyn squeezed his hand to grab his attention. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. His eyes were dull and bloodshot and he seemed to have aged fifty years since the morning. His hair was flat and messy where he had run his fingers through it so many times. It stuck to his brow and the back of his neck.

He put the cup to one side and moved in closer.

"How're you doing?" He wiped a damp cloth over her forehead with the tenderness she had become accustomed to with him. He was always gentle, always careful with her. She adored him for it. Adored him for his sweetness and for simply being there. She wished she was stronger for him. That she could do this most natural thing and give him the child they both wanted. She felt ashamed and like she was failing in her single duty as a wife.

"I'm sorry," she managed to croak, forcing what she hoped was a smile.

"What? Why?" Alistair slid the cloth down her neck and across her collar.

"I can't do this." Tears sprung behind her eyes and she tried to fight them back. "I'm not strong enough."

Alistair shook his head. "Of course you are." He returned the cloth to the basin sitting nearby. "The baby is just stubborn. Takes after me, I'm sure."

"I'm frightened." Said Roselyn, her voice small. Alistair gently pushed her hair away from her face. "I knew it would hurt, but I never expected it to hurt this much... What  if the baby is in pain?" she worried at her bottom lip and ran her hands over her belly. "Maker, Alistair, what if it doesn't live? What if it's coming too early?" Her breath hitched as she inhaled, panic beginning to rise inside her at the possibility of their child dying. "I love it so much, I don't think I could stand it if--" A sob escaped from between her lips. "I'm so afraid..." Roselyn clasped a hand to her mouth to muffle another sob. Tears beaded at the corners of her eyes and she quickly wiped them away.

"Don't be afraid." Alistair took her left hand in his right and kissed her knuckles. "You have the best midwives in Ferelden attending you. And Fiona. They won't let anything happen to you. _I_ won't let anything happen to you."

"Alistair..."

"Or the baby. We won't let anything happen to the baby, either."

"Alistair,"

"And I'm here. I won't leave." He added, smiling weakly. "I know I'm not much help but you'll never find anyone as good at forehead wiping as me." As if to prove his point, he refreshed the cloth in the nearby basin and smoothed it across Roselyn's forehead.

"Alistair," Roselyn chuckled weakly. She appreciated his efforts to make jokes. His attempt to remain light hearted and deflect from the current severity of the situation. "Listen to me."

"Don't say it." He met her gaze, eyes boring into hers and brow furrowed. "I know what you're going to say - and you can't ask me to choose between you and our child if it comes to it."

What little breath she had caught in Roselyn's throat. Her heart pulsed in her mouth as they stared at each other, both strong willed and neither willing to back down. "You won't have to choose," she said eventually. "I'm choosing for you. If it's me or the baby, do everything you can for the baby. I don't matter."

"Yes, you do." Alistair gripped her hand tighter. "Of course you do. You matter to me."

"Alistair," sighed Roselyn. She managed to move closer, touching her forehead to his. She wanted him close, wanted his comfort and compassion. He could be stubborn, but was not unreasonable. "Promise me. If it comes to it."

"Rose..." Alistair's voice cracked.

"Promise me. _Please_."

She watched him pull his lips into a thin, severe line, eyes scrunching closed. He curved a hand around the back of her neck to cradle her skull and he leaned in to press a kiss to her mouth. He lingered there, lips against hers and exchanging shaking breaths, before moving back and putting barely an inch between them. "I promise."

Bart arrived, led into the bedchamber by the lady-in-waiting sent on an errand. With him were two other palace physicians who gave Roselyn a cursory glance before being ushered into a discussion with Fiona, Bart, and the two other midwives. Alistair's hand tightened around Roselyn's and she saw his eyes fixed on the small group.

The now familiar feeling of pain and the urge to put her weight down into her legs came again, flooding over Roselyn and dulling her to the rest of the world. She leaned forward over her belly, Alistair's hand on her back to help. One of the midwives extracted herself from the group and wearily approached the bed to assist, looking tired and bored of the repetitiveness with no progress to so for Roselyn's hard work. Roselyn pushed down into the bed, blood rushing into her face made her skin burn and she found a focus on the opposing wall above the fireplace.

She barely registered the sudden flurry of movement, and she was deaf to everything beyond the pumping sound in her head made quiet only by her own heartbeat. She screamed, she knew that, her throat went raw. Alistair was saying something, Fiona and the other midwife were at the foot of the bed. One held a white linen cloth in her hands, the other was rifling through the tools neatly lined in a leather pouch, as she if had forgotten what each one did.

It went on longer than before, the pressure to push never waning. Roselyn could feel her muscles squeezing, clenching, contracting and fought to remember to breathe, hissing sharp gasps through her teeth. Alistair pressed his forehead to the side of her temple. He was still talking, words spilling out of his mouth but deafened by the thundering in Roselyn's ears. Her teeth hurt where she was gritting them, every inch if skin felt as though it was on fire, and she could feel her legs trembling through the effort it took to take the pressure she put on them.

A sudden and brief feeling of relief came accompanied by loud, unhappy wailing. Roselyn saw a glimpse of tiny arms and legs flailing, and a small face crinkled and red as one midwife took the infant, cleaning it in a fresh, white cloth. The pounding in her head alleviated enough for her to hear the crying more clearly, and Alistair sobbing beside her. Roselyn realised she was crying too.

"Keep going, Your Majesty." Somehow Fiona urging her was louder than anything else in the room. She retained a calmness despite the chaos and a control over the whole room. The healing blue-green glow of magic spilled out from the palms of her hands ready to be applied and administered whenever necessary. "Keep pushing. Keep breathing. Short breaths, that's it."

One of the midwives rubbed Roselyn's legs. Alistair grasped her hand. Roselyn pooled what strength she had left following her body's continued urge to push. Another scream, her toes curled into the sheets and her hair tumbled forward curtaining her face. She shut her eyes to the noise and the sights around her. Her ears popped. She could almost feel her blood moving through her veins, every beat of her heart exaggerated and shaking her to the core. Her world went silent for a moment, a minute, an hour, she wasn't sure - time had lost all meaning - and was shattered by another cry.

Panting, feeling as though she would never catch her breath, Roselyn crumbled back into the pillows openly sobbing her whole body quivering. Her limbs felt lucid and tingly, as if wracked with  pins and needles. She wriggled her fingers trying to calm herself, breathing fast and hard, her lungs feeling as though they were on fire. Alistair smothered her with kisses across her brow, her cheeks, her nose and her lips. Every kiss punctuated with words of adoration broken with sobs and hitched breaths. Roselyn listened to the room while her eyes remained closed. She felt hands on her, heard the voices of the midwives barking orders at her ladies-in-waiting and at each other. Over it all, Roselyn focused on the sounds she needed to hear, her child - _children_ \- alive and well.

"Alistair?" she sobbed, opening her eyes. "Two?"

"Two!" Alistair was beaming through his tears. He rubbed his eyes with his arm to no avail. More tears slipped down his red cheeks. "Twins, Rosie. Twins!" He kissed her forehead again and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Two! _Two!_ You wonderful woman! You glorious creature! I love you so much!" Every statement was punctuated with a kiss to her lips.

"Two..." Roselyn leaned back in the pillows. The familiar cooling sensation of Fiona's healing magic wafted over her from head to toe. The worst of the pain receded with magical assistance, her body only giving minor aftershocks, but the additional healing from Fiona made Roselyn's mind clearer and the lower half of her body at least, feel pleasantly numb. She shifted to sit up straighter with some effort and some help from Alistair, grimacing a little with the change of position. Her muscles would be sore for days, she was sure of it, but that paled in comparison to the moment at hand.

She waited for the midwives to do whatever it was they were doing trying her best to peer over the hunched shoulders of one of them. She could hear her children cooing and whinging - the shock of being brought so suddenly into the world wearing off. Bart and the other physicians were gone, their services no longer required. There was a hum of energy in the room, as if all tiredness and exhaustion for now was replaced by an excited buzz. Words were exchanged, Alistair left Roselyn's side for the first time in hours to pull on a clean shirt before returning to lavish her with further affection.

"You got through it." He smoothed a cloth over her face. "You wonderful, amazing, radiant, incredible woman!"

"I'll remind you of this next time we have a disagreement," Roselyn smiled, breathing hard but glad her mind was clearer and she could make sense of things being said to her. She glanced at Alistair for a moment, only for her attention to be drawn back to the lowering conversation of the midwives, Fiona, and Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, trying to rise onto her arms and see.

"Everything is fine, Your Majesty." Fiona approached them with one baby held securely in her arms, wrapped gently in a clean white blanket. One of the midwives followed behind with the other the child similarly swaddled. Fiona gently passed the child into Roselyn's waiting arms. "They're a little small, but you have a healthy son," Alistair took the second infant, "and a daughter."  She took a step back, giving Alistair and Roselyn room and joining the midwives and ladies-in-waiting in beginning to tidy and clear up.

"A son _and_ daughter?" Alistair repeated, nestling close to Roselyn's side. He shifted one hand to mop his face again, cheeks stained and mottled. The baby he held grumbled in protest, eyes opening a fraction. "Look at how tiny they are." He nudged his index finger into the baby's open hand. Their daughter's small fingers barely closed all the way around, "Tiny and _so_ beautiful _._ " Alistair said, awestruck.

"They're perfect," Roselyn murmured, smoothing her fingers over the faint tuft of sandy hair on the crown of her son's head. She followed the roundness of his cheek with the tip of her finger. There was little difference between the two of them. Their son yawned, eyes opening slightly as he did and then closing again. Roselyn's chest swelled with adoration and she could feel happy tears stinging her eyes.

"Worth it?" asked Alistair.

"Yes." Roselyn nodded, kissing her son's forehead. "Every moment."

Alistair chuckled feebly. "Maker, look at them." He was positively glowing, unable to move the smile from his face. He sat closer and pressed his lips to Roselyn's forehead. "I am so proud of you." He nuzzled her hair. "I love you _so_ much."

She turned her head to greet the kiss he pressed to her lips. "I love you..." she murmured back. Alistair kissed her again, smiling into the gesture. "This is our family." Roselyn said, gazing between their two children. "Our future."

"And what a future it will be." Alistair agreed. He leaned into the pillows beside Roselyn the pair of them marvelling at the precious young lives they each cradled so close, cocooned, for now, in bliss.

 

* * *

  
Super cute render of Alistair and Roselyn by JediSerenity82 who was super generous to do this and gift it to me! I love it so much! So, thank you JediSerenity82!! <333  
  
(Only the one baby because I kept the fact there were twins a secret from everyone except my beta readers! :p)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This was a doozy to write and research, given I'm not a mother myself and have never experienced childbirth. I wound up asking my mum for details... I got some weird looks from her.
> 
> I've been nervous about this one for some time, it's had a lot of rewrites and I think the final proof-read count is about 6. I still probably missed some mistakes though.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and are happy with the outcome of it! I wonder if anyone suspected anything?  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! I love hearing your thoughts and anything you have to say! I will have the next chapter up soon. Only two more uploads to go!


	33. Chapter 19: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: As Roselyn recovers from the birth of the twins, Alistair gets no respite in ruling Ferelden. He and Teagan put their heads together in an attempt to come up with a suitable celebration for the birth of the Prince and Princess, something that everyone can enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Razerathane and bluvixen deserve all the praise for helping me get through this fic. I owe them a lot.
> 
> Rating: Teen

_A week later_

Alistair was torn for the days following the birth of the twins. Torn between duty and wanting to spend time with Roselyn and their newborn children as she recovered. He hurried through council meetings and greeting petitioners, going so far as to try and pass off responsibilities onto Teagan when he could. Teagan allowed it for one day, making allowances for Alistair's excitement and recuperating after being awake with Roselyn for over twenty-four hours. After that he refused to allow Alistair any lee-way and was quick to chide if Alistair tried to rush through his duties.

Notification of the birth was sent out through Ferelden, missives to be delivered and recounted to Alistair and Roselyn's people. Well wishes, gifts, and blessings began to flood the palace. Petitioners brought extra gifts and whatever they could afford, and offered their good will towards the Queen and the new Prince and Princess. Ambassadors and dignitaries currently in the palace asked to see the children - Alistair assumed to confirm for themselves they actually existed and send word back to their own homes - but Alistair refused. They were tiny and precious, and Alistair felt a protectiveness towards them he never felt before. He fussed when anyone other than he, Roselyn or Fiona held them and was not about to let them be exposed to people. Not until they were older and Roselyn could be there too.

Roselyn's recovery was slow and though it started the day the twins were born, she was still practically bed ridden and exhausted. She had left the bed only a handful of times to bathe and for the sheets to be changed. Alistair slept with her in bed, but slept more lightly than ever before, aware of every movement Roselyn made and every sound their children uttered from their cradle. If one of them so much as cooed, he was awake and by their crib checking on them. Even with nurses to care for the babies when Roselyn and Alistair were resting, he wanted to be there for everything. He almost felt a pang of jealousy that Roselyn stayed with them and he could not. He hoped he made up for it by returning whenever he had a spare moment to check up on them and to see Roselyn.

All the months leading up to the arrival of the twins and nothing could have prepared him for how involving and all consuming being a parent was. Immediately following their birth, Alistair was sure his heart swelled in size just to be able to fit in the adoration he felt filling him up. He was consumed daily and nightly with thoughts of the children. He worried when he could not be near them, and if one of them did not stir for any length of time he would go and check on them. He was determined to be the father to his children his never was to him. He would never make them feel lost or as though one was of less importance than the other. Being two did not mean one was a _'spare'._ They were both equally as important, equally as precious and loved. He would make sure they never doubted it. He wanted them to know that they were wanted and loved from the moment they were born and even before that. His children would know what he had not. And now he found himself more afraid of letting them down than anything else.

Fiona remained on hand helping with Roselyn's recovery. She rarely tended to her with magic, instead insisting she use natural remedies like herbs and roots stewed into a tea for aches and pains. Roselyn was still too weak to refuse and lost the will to argue as it exhausted her too much. Alistair worried and fussed but Fiona assured him repeatedly that Roselyn had undergone an ordeal and it would take time for her to return to herself and that the slight fever she had was part of the recovery and nothing to worry about.

Alistair tried to occupy himself with the daily comings and goings of the palace. If he could not be with his wife and children at all times, then he was going to make sure all in Ferelden was well and therefore would not distract him beyond what was necessary. He heard from Anora that there were no issues in Amaranthine or Gwaren and she offered her best wishes to Roselyn. She asked if there would be a public ceremony to bring them into the Maker's fold, or a festival to celebrate their birth - it was a question Alistair put to Teagan.

"We could certainly have the Revered Mother brought to the palace and have them blessed in the Maker's light," Teagan nodded slowly and wrote something down on a scroll of parchment open before him. "Of course, they'll need names before you can do that." He cast Alistair shrewd look.

"Ah, yes," chuckled Alistair. "We still haven't decided." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I think Roselyn is still too tired most days to consider a discussion about names, and I'm sure she has ideas though so names might not be decided for a few more days. We should have put some thought into it before they were born."

"There's no rush, Your Majesty." Teagan leaned back in his seat. Alistair copied him. It was the just the two of them in the council chamber. Council was concluded for the day. It was quieter in the council chamber than most other places in the palace, and Alistair enjoyed spending time in the room with Teagan going over the main points of meetings and mentally preparing himself for the rest of the day. "Though, the people might respond well to you naming your son at least after Cailan, or Maric. Or your daughter after Queen Rowan."

"Ah," Alistair arched his fingers until the tips were touching. "With respect Teagan, I would rather not."

"Oh?"

"It's Roselyn's decision too. And, well, naming children after a dead family member has always seemed rather ghoulish to me," Alistair shrugged. "I would prefer for them to have names that didn't have a history attached. No... mould to fill or name to live up to." He looked up from his hands to Teagan. "You understand my point?"

"Yes, of course, Your Majesty." Teagan scratched something through on the parchment. "I'm sure whatever you decide will be fine."

"I would still like to arrange a festival, or a celebration of some kind. And not just for nobility. Everyone should be able to celebrate," Alistair continued. He got up from his seat to stretch his legs. "Maybe some kind of holiday? Give the people a day off from their labours and businesses? Bring in commerce from our foreign neighbours? Make a big show of it? It's not every day an heir to the throne is born. Let alone two."

Teagan pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I seem to recall when Cailan was born, Maric arranged for a grand melee akin to that in the Free Marches to take place. That was the main event, but there were other attractions. There were endurance hunts for those who wanted to take part, jousts, some kind of theatrical performance. It was quite the spectacle if I remember correctly."

"That's fine for nobility," Alistair waved a hand dismissively. "They'll be happy as long as they get an invite. No, the people that matter and who I want to feel included is everyone who isn't nobility. I would like it if they felt as strongly about the children as I do."

"That... might be a tall order, Alistair," Teagan said slowly. "Don't mistake me, they will care and be grateful for whatever you give them to celebrate. Be it a day off, a year's supply of grain, a bag of coin, or a cow for slaughter. But they will never feel the same about the children as you do. No one will. No one can match the way a parent feels for their child."

Alistair lifted his hands and linked his hands behind his head leaning back a little. "I suppose." The corner of his mouth quirked, "Have you see them Teagan? They're so perfect."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Teagan got to his feet. "So you've said. Repeatedly."

"I must sound so stupid to anyone listening to me," Alistair's smile grew. "Not like a King at all. But I can't help it." He dropped his hands to his sides and faced his uncle. "After everything that has happened in the last year, with Cailan, my father, Anora, Loghain, and Roselyn's family... Honestly, I don't think I expected to get to this point."

"It's been a difficult time for everyone," Teagan clapped a hand on Alistair's shoulder and squeezed in a familiar and friendly way. "You and the Queen deserve every happiness. I can only hope this is just the beginning, as I am certain many people hope."

"Thank you," Alistair nodded to his uncle. "And thank you for all your hard work, everything you've done. You've kept the Kingdom going."

"I am here to offer you assistance. Whatever you need." Teagan offered a genuine, warm smile. "Now gather yourself. Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven arrives tomorrow with Viscount Tethras of Kirkwall. You need to be ready to face them. I understand Viscount Tethras is a novelist, and a notorious weaver of tall tales. He will likely wrap you in stories of grandeur to distract from politics."

Alistair fell into step with Teagan both heading towards the door. "I'll make sure to read everything you've given me so I'm prepared." The guards stationed by the doors opened them. "What else is on the agenda for today?" The hum of conversation in the main hall silenced when Alistair walked out with Teagan. Eyes turned on them both those in the room dropped into bows and curtsies when Alistair and Teagan started to make their way through the throng of people. At first Alistair hated how everyone watched him and all eyes turned to him wherever he went, he felt as though he was on show at all times. Now he barely noticed. It was second nature to make eye contact, to smile, and nod his head at people of importance so they knew he had seen them and they were in his good graces.

"Some petitioners arrived to offer their gifts and bring their issues to you," Teagan checked the parchment he carried and the notes scribbled there. "Also, I believe the Bann of the Alienage, Shianni is due to arrive this evening to talk about the Alienage now all construction is complete."

"All right." Alistair turned a corner with Teagan. "I'll ask Roselyn if she feels strong enough to attend."

"Very good, Your Ma--"

**_"Your Majesty!"_ **

The hairs on the back of Alistair's neck stood straight at the sound of the scream echoing down the hallway. Teagan froze in place and Alistair whirled in the direction of the voice. He saw a young woman running towards them, her face flushed and grasping the skirts on her dress in her fists. She barged passed several people, shoving them with all her body weight. Her light blonde hair was out of whatever style she kept it in. Alistair recognised her as one of Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting and his stomach clenched on instinct. Even without her saying anything, he knew there was something wrong. A cold sweat began to leak out of his pores and he was moving down the hall with long steps towards her before he knew it.

"What is it?" he asked, striding past the girl and following the route she would have taken from his and Roselyn's quarters.

The girl ran to keep up with his pace. "It's the Queen," she told him, breathing hard. Alistair almost caught his foot on a step in surprise. He was expecting it to be one of the twins. Not Roselyn. He steadied himself and sped up. "She... She's..." The young woman lost her speech in her effort to keep up. Alistair was not sure he would have heard her anyway. His mind was focused and he broke into a run.

When he reached his and Roselyn's room he was panting and had unbuttoned his collar so he could breathe more easily. The presence chamber was a bustle of activity as Roselyn's ladies-in-waiting struggled to keep Roo under control. The mabari was barking, foaming at the mouth and kept charging between the women and the door to the bed chamber. Alistair checked to see if the cradle was in the room. It wasn't and his heart clenched.

"Roo!" he snapped at the dog and she turned her eyes on him.

"Your Majesty." The ladies all bobbed into curtsies out of formality. The atmosphere in the room was stifling and electric. Every step towards the closed bedchamber doors felt like a mile. The door seemed to get further and further away with every step Alistair too. Roo stood by the door, glancing back between it and Alistair. She scratched at the wood and released a mournful howl that shook Alistair to his core.

"Get that beast out of here!" one woman cried at the guards stationed outside the door main chamber doors. "It's disturbing everyone!"

"Don't touch her," Alistair snapped. "She wants to go into the room."

"But--"

"She'll calm down once she can see the Queen," he explained, shouting to cover his own rising panic. He closed his hand around the door handle and took a breath. He swallowed the sickness threatening to overwhelm him. Someone was over-reacting. They had to be. He pushed the door open. Roo charged through when a gap became visible and ran around to the emptiest side of the bed. She leapt up leaning her forepaws on the sheets.

Alistair took in the sight before him. Fiona to one side looking gaunt and more dishevelled than he had ever seen her. She had one arm crossed over her abdomen, the other bent at the elbow and she chewed her thumbnail. Usually so calm and collected, it took Alistair a moment to register the sheer fear and worry on her youthful face. Closer to the bed was Bart, his beard tucked into his belt. With him were two other palace physicians. One held Roselyn's arm extended over a brass bowl, which was kept in place on a matching brass stand. A tourniquet was tied around her upper arm and Alistair watched Bart cut into a vein, and the blood began to flow down her arm into the brass dish. There was a Chantry sister too at the foot of the bed, down on her knees in prayer.

Roselyn herself was in bed, covers up to her chest. She was pale, her eyes appeared to have sunken into their sockets and her lips were almost grey. She was covered in a layer of sweat with her hair sticking to her face, neck and shoulders. Any hair left loose was spread out around her on her pillows. She breathed slowly. Each intake appeared to take immense effort on her part. Her eyes were closed, though he saw her eyelids flutter when Bart cut into her arm.

"Alistair," Fiona's voice brought him from his stunned stupor. "Thank the Maker you're here. I wasn't--"

"What happened?" demanded Alistair. He rubbed his face with his hands. Tears had fallen without his realising. "She was fine when I left her this morning. A little weak, she had a small fever b-but she was... Where are the twins? What happened, Fiona? Why is she..." He looked at the mage beside him. "What's going on?"

"I had the twins moved for the moment. As soon as I saw Her Majesty's health waning I knew having them in here would only cause havoc. They are safe." She put a hand on Alistair's arm. "I believe this is childbed fever."

"What?" Alistair's voice hitched. "What is that?"

"It can happen after childbirth. She was left weak and there are risks of infection as her body recuperates. The fever comes on quickly and the infection is fast acting. She began to haemorrage a few hours ago - but that seems to have stopped for now," Fiona explained keeping her voice as steady as possible. Alistair assumed it was to help keep him calm, but he noticed Fiona was trembling as well, as if cold. "I sent for Bart. He is bleeding her to try and relieve the fever."

"Why?" Alistair barked turning on Fiona. "Heal her! Just heal her! You're a mage, aren't you?"

Fiona treated him to a soft look, one full of pity. She understood the fear he felt. Somewhere deep down she recognised it. "I have tried, Your Majesty." She explained, slowly. "My magic does not seem to work on ailments like this. I can heal wounds, injuries, pain. But this... this is beyond magic. This is a natural ill. We must rely on natural remedies and her own strength."

"You said it was nothing!" Alistair bit out savagely, "you said the fever was normal!"

"I was wrong." Fiona replied, her face still and voice stoic. After a moment, she turned her gaze to Roselyn in the bed. "You should stay with her," she urged him. Her voice cracked but she controlled her expression by clenching her jaw. "Be with her... Let her know you are there. It may help."

She did not say it, but Alistair knew the sentiment behind her words. _'Say your goodbyes while you can. She might not live.'_ He considered asking Fiona what the chances of Roselyn surviving were but thought better of it. He did not want to know. He blanched when he saw that Bart was bandaging the cut he made. A man in physician robes took the brass dish from the stand to dispose of the blood. Alistair grimaced at the sight of it. There was so much. Would bleeding her _really_ do anything?

He could not focus on that. Not as he knelt at the bedside next to Roo and tentatively took Roselyn's hand in his. Her skin was cold to the touch and he rubbed her fingers in both hands in an effort to warm them. Up close she looked so much worse than his first glance. Her skin was grey and waxy. She shivered, despite being under piles of blankets and covers. Her pillow was drenched and the sheets underneath her too. He could hear her almost wheezing as close as he was now. The space behind his eyes prickled painfully and tears stung in his eyes. He used the thumb and forefinger of one hand to rub his eyes, dropping his forehead to the covers. How could a mild fever turn into _this_ so quickly?

Something brushed his hair. He glanced up to see Roselyn's face turned towards him, her free hand flopping over her chest. Somehow she was managing to smile, her eyes half open to look at him. Tears were beading in the corners of her eyes. Alistair forced a smile and dabbed them away from the edge of one eye and bit back a sob when she brought her free hand to cover his. Her face was so cold. He could hardly find breath and every tear was followed by another. A never ending flow he did not realise had started.

"Alistair..." Roselyn murmured. Her voice was little more than a soft whisper, yet somehow she was louder than the voices of everyone else in the room. "What's this?" She reached for him and cupped his cheek. Her thumb brushing over his cheekbone and his beard. Alistair clasped her hand to his face and kissed the palm. "Where's that smile I love so much?"

"Maker, Rose," Alistair choked. How could she ask him to smile at a time like this? When he was faced with the prospect of losing her? He moved closer. "This isn't fair," he blurted out through a sob.

"Alistair..."

"It's not. The twins are barely a week old. They don't even know you. They need to know you," he sniffled. "They need their mother."

"Alistair."

" _I_ need you," he added, desperation making his voice crack. "Please... please fight this." He kissed the back of her hand. "I know you can. You're stronger than all of us. Look at everything you've got through to get here. With _me_." He emphasised. "You're meant to be with _me._ It's supposed to be _us_. Together. Ruling. Getting old! Surrounded by children. This... this isn't fair."

She said nothing. Instead Roselyn stroked his cheek again, and Alistair saw her grey eyes exploring his face. Her gaze lingered on the details. His nose, his mouth and his eyes. She followed the curve of his upper lip with her thumb and mapped his brows, the slope of his nose. Her forehead furrowed with the effort it took her to take a deep breath.

"You'll be fine," Roselyn told him. Somehow she managed to find the ability to smile. "I know you will. You're resilient."

"Roselyn..." Alistair trembled under his clothing. Outside was blazing sunshine and warmth unlike Ferelden had ever known. Yet he felt as though he was in the midst of a frozen winter. He struggled to think of words, of anything to say, though many stuffed themselves onto his tongue. He wanted to tell her how much he adored her. How much he needed her. Not just as a Queen, but as his wife and the mother to their children. They needed her. He grew up without a mother - he did not want the same for them. Ferelden needed her too,  someone honest and kind to stand beside Alistair and rule with him, to help guide him into the right choices. It was wrong that they should survive so much heartache and loss together only for him to be left alone following the greatest loss of all.

He could not make heard any of the things he should have said. It would make the situation too real. Too final. She was alive. That was enough. She was not dead yet, and there was a chance she would pull through. She _had to_.

"Listen..." Roselyn grimaced at the effort she made to move closer. Alistair got up from his knees and perched on the edge of the bed to be nearer to her. He leaned over her, pushing his fingers through her hair and watching her. He saw the way her face crinkled, her nose wrinkling the way it did when she was thinking. She closed her eyes for a few moments, as she did when she was considering what to say. "If the worst happens--"

"Rosie,"

"Please," she pressed, eyes flashing for a split second. "Listen to me."

Alistair swallowed thickly. He felt as though his throat was closing over making both breathing and swallowing a challenge. His heart pulsed, every beat sluggish and the sound resounding in his head. His flesh rose into goose bumps as he shivered, cold to the bone. As if he would never feel warm again. He cupped her face in one hand, flexing his fingers to try and hide the way they shook. "I'm listening." He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. His eyes were burning.

"If..." Roselyn's eyelids slipped shut and it seemed to take her minutes to open them again. "Don't be alone."

"W... what?"

"Don't be alone," she touched his face tenderly. "If I'm not here... You shouldn't spend the rest of your life alone."

"Rose," Alistair stared at her. He clenched his jaw and gasped back a sob threatening to bubble out. "Rosie, don't." He forced a breath into his lungs trying to ignore how doing so burned. "You're not going to die. Stop talking like--"

"Promise me." Pooling what strength she still had, she lifted her head and pressed her forehead to his. "Promise that you won't waste away. Alistair, you deserve to be happy."

"I am." He hardly recognised his own voice as every word felt like agony to say. "With you."

"Alistair..." Shaking with effort, Roselyn's head and shoulders dropped back into the pillows. Tears clinging to his eyelashes and dripping off the end of his nose, Alistair kissed her softly trying to find the warmth in her lips he once felt. When he pulled away he saw there were tears brimming in her eyes. He wrapped her up in his arms, burying his face into the curve of her shoulder and inhaling. Roselyn returned the embrace weakly, nestling as close as was possible. "I love you." She said, so softly Alistair almost missed it. He tightened his grip around her, his shoulder shuddering as he fought back an anguish rising inside him.

Roo whined beside the bed and Alistair reluctantly let Roselyn out of his arms, helping her lie back. The hound nudged her muzzle closer to Roselyn's hand, pink tongue lapping ofrth to gingerly lick her fingertips. Slowly, Roselyn lifted her hand it to rub the mabari's ears.

Alistair's chest constricted. He could hardly find the air to breathe, and no matter how fast he inhaled it, was like he would never catch his breath. Blind panic roiled inside him. Panic and anger, all mixed up with the fear and prospect of losing his wife. His Queen. The mother of his children. The other half of him. He never considered it a prospect. He believed they would live and grow old together eventually. Nothing could have prepared him for this, and now it was as if someone was turning a blade in his heart wracking every inch of him with unfathomable pain.

He lay on the covers, curled up as close to Roselyn as he could get. He perched his head on her belly listening to her breathe. One of her hands came and he felt her fingers wind within his hair. He was crying freely as he grasped her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. Tears leaked from his eyes, dripping over his nose and into the covers.

"Please don't give in," Alistair whispered, half-pleading with her and half-praying to the Maker. "I love you. I _need_ you. Please... _please_... be strong. Be strong for me. For our children..." His shoulders quaked again and he inhaled thickly. "I can't do this without you. I don't want to be without you..." Lifting his head, he pressed his lips to Roselyn's knuckles, peering up at her serene and pale face his vision blurry with tears. "You are the most wonderful woman, the most loving and kind. You are _everything_ to me..." With another kiss to her cold fingers, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Don't leave me, I beg you... Please don't take her away."

Someone placed a hand on his shaking shoulder. A gentle touch which Alistair managed not to recoil from. He did not want sympathy. He did not want pity. He wanted a solution. He wanted something, _anything_ to keep Roselyn there, alive and well. Living to see their children grow up and watch Ferelden bloom under their leadership.

"It's in the hands of the Maker, now." The voice was female, soft and sounded far away. Alistair glanced up and saw the familiar sunburst and the sleeve of Chantry robes. It was the Chantry sister who had her hand on his shoulder, and her words rattled around his head. The hands of the Maker? The hands of _the Maker?_ Alistair's anger bubbled over. The Maker had his hand in _too many_ things in his life. The Maker took his mother, his father, and his brother. The Maker saw fit to take Roselyn's own family. The Maker was _not_ going to have his wife.

"No," Alistair shrugged the woman's hand off and got to his feet.

"Your Majesty--"

"The Maker can't have her," he told the sister, voice steady and cold. "I don't care what it takes. Send for healers from every corner of Thedas." He turned his eyes on Fiona and Bart. "Send word to Tevinter, the Circle of Magi, to Orzammar. Go to Antiva or Rivain to find a healer or a seer or something. Track down the Avvar and the Chasind. The Dalish. Whatever it takes." He stared at the sister almost daring her to spout some Chantry rhetoric. "I am _not_ losing her to the Maker."

A beat of silence and the Chantry sister dropped her gaze. She moved away from the bed and towards a corner to the windows. She prayed under her breath. Alistair glared at the woman's back. He was raised Andrastian and was supposed to believe in the Maker. But he refused to accept this as part of the Maker's will or plan. And if it was, he would not allow it.

Turning back to the bed and to Roselyn he adjusted her hair, tucking loose tufts of it back behind her ears. Her skin was colder, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. She looked peaceful when she slept. He realised the where her hand was stroking Roo's ear was now limp on the covers.

Fear filled his veins with ice.

"Rose?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just hate cliff hangers?   
> The conclusion will be up soon, I promise. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and a bit of drama! This was actually quite an emotional one for me to write, for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, I always love reading your comments, reactions, thoughts and theories. Next and final chapter will be up soon!   
> Thank you so much for reading.


	34. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Roselyn's unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen
> 
> Well, here we are at the final chapter. It's been a long road. I won't fill up this space with maudlin comments, I'll save that for the end. Please, I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

Alistair's eyes flew open and he stared at the canopy of the bed above him for a few seconds, adjusting to the light. He could feel his heart thumping and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quickly. He was lying back, but might as well have just run circuits around the palace given how breathless he was.

The thin summer blankets covering him were twisted around his lower body, wound up almost into knots. It took him a few seconds to disentangle his feet and legs. A feat not helped by how sluggishly he moved as his muscles awakened and feeling tingled down his limbs. He tugged and pulled at the blankets to bring them up to his chest. Once they were more organized and his thoughts were not so jumbled, he lay back, resting one arm over his chest and the other across his forehead. He blinked hard, noticing for the first time the slivers of dawn light creeping through the drapes of the bedchamber. He watched dust motes pass over his vision and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

Glancing around the room, he groaned when he realised what a mess it was and how much there still was left to do before he could really call the new rooms finished. Trunks filled with clothes were piled up over to one side of the room. Granted, there were only three remaining from the original eight, but it still meant more noise, more people coming in and out, more things happening. All he wanted to do was spend a day hidden away, relaxing, catching up on sleep, and avoiding his duties rather than being at the beck and call of every minor noble with a complaint.

He still felt odd. A week in these new chambers and he still was not accustomed to them. Moving from the old rooms was Teagan's suggestion, leaving a lifetime of hurt and some bad memories behind with them. Some good and some wonderful memories too, but he hoped these rooms would overflow with happy memories as time went on. As far as he knew, the old chambers were being assimilated into the guest wing of the palace. So much was changing, not just in the palace but in Denerim and Ferelden too and Alistair believed all for the better.

These chambers once belonged to his father. They were left unoccupied after Maric died, like some sacred relic. No one went in or out for months and it showed when the doors were finally opened and dust flew up in a cloud. It took a week or so for the rooms to be thoroughly aired and cleaned from top to bottom. Maric's old bed was dismantled and removed and a new bed was built in its place: a frame of dark redwood beautifully varnished and carved with vines and flames over the headboard and the posts. The canopy above was a sea of dark navy, decorated with detailed embroidery depicting scenes from the history of the Calenhad bloodline.

These rooms were bigger – by an impressive amount - than the old ones Alistair used to occupy. The bedchamber itself was about twice the size of the old one and along with having one door leading out into the presence chamber, there was a second leading into a smaller side room. Once it was Maric's private office, now it was a nursery for the twins. Alistair wanted his children close. Before moving to this room, they were housed just across the hall, yet even that felt too far. Now Alistair could hear them if they fussed or cried. Even though they had nurses to tend to them who lived in a room adjacent to the nursery with a connecting door, he liked to be on hand to soothe them if he could. Watching them sleep had become a favourite past time, as had bathing them, holding them, and talking to them as he read letters and wrote replies. It turned out the twins were an excellent audience - perfect for bouncing ideas off of - and Alistair liked to think they enjoyed the sound of his voice. As it was, he found anything to do with his children was now top of his list of 'favourite things to do'.

Slowly sitting up, Alistair pushed his fingers through his hair and yawned. He scratched his scalp, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and contemplated what the time was. It was light out, but that was normal for the summer. He guessed it was still very early. Glancing down at the space beside him, the image of an empty side made his heart clench and his stomach tighten. He put his hand down on the sheets - they were cold to the touch. He swallowed thickly and released a shaky breath trying to contain his anguish.

A noise from beyond the door to the nursery grabbed his attention. One of the twins gave a small whine of complaint for a moment before settling and cooing from beyond the door. Alistair climbed out of bed, his parental instincts taking over and putting aside any personal grief for the time being.

He was forced to stop and blink when he opened the nursery door, his eyes almost blinded by the early morning light. The nursery was a much brighter room than the bed chamber the windows faced out to the east getting light first thing. The drapes were not as thick as they were in the main chamber and here they were pulled back to allow the soft pinkish dawn light spill in. The walls were a light panelled wood, keeping the room bright and airy. One of the windows was open allowing a breeze to spill in from outside, bringing with it smells from the herb garden.

There were two cribs positioned next to each other and pushed against the back wall so they were not in direct sunlight or in a draught. Both were carved with intricate detail and had canopies hanging over them made of light gossamer fabric. Hand crafted mobiles dangled above each cradle, too. The figures hanging down, moved by the soft breeze, were all mythical beast carved with immense detail making every griffon and every dragon look almost life like. As if they might spring into being at any moment, but in miniture. More than once Alistair had caught and subsequently watched his son and daughter reaching their small, curious hands up towards the decoration.

The rest of the furniture was simple and functional,several chairs for nurses and visitors to sit on, trunks stuffed with cloth for clothes, a dresser, an armoire for each child, and a few small tables. A huge sheepskin rug - gifted to the twins from Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven - covered part of the hardwood floor. A large toy chest was delivered shortly after their birth, though at the moment they were both too small to play with anything. And most of the time, their attention was taken by each other. The nursery was probably Alistair's favourite room in the palace, not least because it was where his children almost always were. It seemed to have become Roo's favorite place, too. She now chose to sleep on the rug more often-than-not, always on alert and fiercely protective of her tiny, precious wards.

Alistair noticed there was already someone in the nursery. Her back facing the door with his son gently supported on her shoulder. Long dark hair in messy ringlets hung down her back, the morning light illuminating lighter shades and bringing into focus the pinkness of her skin through the flimsy robe she wore over her nightdress. She hummed, swaying and bouncing in one place, settling the baby who clutched a small stuffed mabari in one chubby hand and who looked decidedly milk-drunk. Alistair leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms, his panic abated by the scene of quiet bliss before him. A scene he was reluctant to disturb.

The discomfort in his stomach and the tightness gripping his heart relaxed, easing away to contentment. He doubted he would ever stop feeling the sense of anxiety if Roselyn was not where he expected her to be. He almost lost her once, and he never wanted to face that possibility again. The days he spent at her bedside all, eventually, melted into one endless blur. The hours spent agonizing and waiting for her to pass beyond his reach while healers and physicians did all they could to make her comfortable were innumerable. It seemed inevitable that she would slip away. Even though he sent people to find a remedy for her illness, he knew there was a slim chance. But Roselyn was stronger than anyone, even herself, ever believed. There were times she almost gave in but for a thin, yet strong thread of determination keeping her clinging to life. It took perhaps a week or more for her fever to break, but when it did she slowly began to grow in strength. Pulling herself away from the edge of the abyss and back to her children. Back to him.  

That was two weeks ago, and as far as Alistair was concerned, it was a miracle she was alive, and able to rock their son gently in her arms as she did now. A miracle he was most grateful for. The Maker, or maybe it was Andraste, took pity on Alistair in his desperation and despair. He was allowed more time with the woman he adored. His other half. He would never take that gift, or her, for granted.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Roselyn smiled sweetly over the head of their son, grey eyes warm and beckoning him to her side.

Alistair pushed off from the door frame and crossed towards her to greet her with a kiss, one she returned with a soft hum. "Good morning," he whispered, unwilling to ruin the quiet sanctuary of the nursery with his voice being louder than necessary. He swept her hair back off her shoulder, behind her ear and pressed a kiss to the side of her temple. "The bed was cold."

"He was awake early for his feed and was fussing," Roselyn told him. The child on her shoulder complained at no longer being rocked. Roselyn resumed her swaying, kissing the baby's forehead. "I didn't want to bother you."

"You should have," Alistair remarked. He slipped his arms around her waist keeping her close while leaving some space between them for the child. "I like watching you when you feed them, and you're still recovering."

"I'm fine, Alistair." Roselyn smiled to reassure him.

"Roselyn," he frowned. She was certainly better than she was before. There was colour in her cheeks and lips, and her eyes were bright. But there were still signs that she was not as strong as she was before. Dark hollows were still prominent beneath her eyes and she tired more easily throughout the day. Even now simply standing, he could feel she was struggling to stay upright. "I just worry."

Roselyn touched his cheek. "I know you do." And she did know. Alistair was certain that she knew how long he spent by her bedside. He was sure she knew how desperate he was for her to live and pull through her illness. Even in her weakened state, he was confident that she heard everything he said and endured and prayed for. That she was aware of him and the twins when he had them brought to her in the hopes their presence might keep her tethered to the world. His worry and concern for her would never fully disappear, he knew that. Almost losing her once was one time too many. She extracted herself from his embrace and sat in a chair near the two cradless. Alistair joined her, squatting at her side. Their son turned his head, eyes half-open peering down into Alistair's face almost with confusion.

"He has your eyes, you know?" Alistair said. "Grey."

"They have flecks of gold in them," Roselyn replied, unfolding a blanket on her lap. "She definitely takes after you though." She gestured with a nod of her head to their daughter, still asleep in her cradle and under her blankets. She slept better than her brother, but was harder to settle when she woke. Her brother did not sleep through the night yet, but was easy to calm if he woke. They both fed well and constantly, and were vocal, no matter their mood. They seemed to enjoy being fussed over, though it was clear to Alistair that Roselyn was their favourite person to be held by. Not least because she was where every meal now came from.

Alistair was grateful to the nurses who cared for the children when Roselyn was at her worst. Even though Roselyn was strong enough to feed their children now, the nurses still remained close by at all times: tending to the children while she was still weak and recovering. It would be some time before Roselyn was at full strength again. The fever almost killed her but, as ever, Roselyn was determined to push through adversity. Alistair wished she would spend more time allowing herself to heal, but knew it was futile arguing with his wife. When she was determined there was no changing her mind. He knew that better than most.

"Do you think you will be alright ?" asked Alistair, gently placing his hand on her arm. "The presentation for the blessing is going to take time and there are going to be a lot of people that we'll have to make small talk with. I don't want you to exhaust yourself."

Roselyn gave a soft sigh, "I think I'll be fine. Teagan said arrangements have been made in case I need to sit down or get tired. It's not as though the Chantry is far."

"You can return to the palace if you feel weak. Or even stay here while everything happens in the Chantry."

"I'm not missing my own children being blessed," she said shortly. Their son squirmed, disturbed by the soft sharpness in her voice. Roselyn's mouth drew into a line while she tried to settle him again. "I want to be there. If it gets too much I can step out."

"I know, I know."

"I'm not going to break," Roselyn looked at him and smiled kindly. "I understand you're worried."

"I know," Alistair shook his head. "It must feel like I'm trying to protect you from everything." Shrugging his shoulders he squatted and helped to wrap the baby in the blanket Roselyn unfolded. "I almost lost you. I suppose I'm still astounded by the fact I didn't, and frightened that you're going to slip away at any moment."

Roselyn smiled and brushed her fingers through his hair, curling them around his ear. "Your sentiments come from a good place, but I'm getting stronger every day. You must stop being so concerned." She ran her fingers through his hair a second time glancing at it thoughtfully, "You'll go prematurely grey."

"I'll never stop worrying," Alistair retorted, laughing at her comment.. He turned his head and kissed her palm, glancing up with a small grin. "About you or about our children." Roselyn drew her hand back and rubbed circles over the baby's back. She reclined in the chair, stretching her legs out  and closing her eyes. Their son cooed in the blankets he was wrapped in, little hand fisting and unfisting in the air. Alistair plopped down onto the floor, legs crossed. He began to run his hands up and down the calf of Roselyn's leg, pressing his fingers into her muscle.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Alistair listened to the regular soft breathing of his son, wife, and daughter, marvelling at each of them in turn. He often felt like he needed to pinch himself. That somehow, through everything life had thrown at him, he was so thoroughly blessed with a wife he loved more and more every day and two beautiful children. Every night he was afraid that he would wake up the following morning and it would all be a dream. That he would wake and still be the unwanted boy sleeping in the stables of Redcliffe Castle. Then, when the morning came and everything was as it was the previous night, Alistair's heart swelled and he knew how lucky he was.

"Teagan's going to have puppies if we turn up to the blessing and they still don't have names, you know?" He said, peering up at Roselyn's contented face. Their son was dozing on her shoulder, one small fist clasped around the material of her night gown.

"I know," chuckled Roselyn. She cracked an eye open. "Any ideas?"

"You're still against naming them after your parents?"

Both eyes opened, "Absolutely. They shouldn't have names of anyone they might feel they need to live up to. They should be able to grow into themselves as people without the pressure of expectation. They'll have enough of that from being royalty."

"I agree. Just after they were born Teagan suggested naming our son Maric or Cailan." Roselyn made a face. "No, I wasn't keen either." Alistair pursed his lips and continued to massage her leg. Roselyn relaxed again. Their son was almost completely asleep, fighting to keep his eyes open. Alistair watched the child in her arms succumb to draw of sleep while rubbing Roselyn's leg. In her crib, their daughter stirred making a small high pitched whine and contorting her face into a frown for a few seconds. She went silent again, sleep undisturbed. "I have a suggestion for our daughter that I've been sitting on for a while."

"Mhm-hm." Roselyn smiled down at Alistair on the floor, gingerly nudging his hand away when he brushed his fingers along the underside of her foot. She shot him a mildly disapproving look - made less disapproving by her smile - and he grinned in return. "What did you have in mind?"

"What about 'Olivia'?" He suggested with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, "I think it's pretty... Do you like it?" He focused on the task of massaging the back of Roselyn's leg, feeling oddly bashful. For a distraction, he concentrated on his fingers pressing into Roselyn's calf and the steady rhythm with which he moved his hands. "I read it in a book."

"Olivia..." Roselyn repeated slowly. Alistair watched her try the name on her lips and tongue, tilting her head back. "Olivia..." A smile slowly slid into view. "I like it. You're right, it's lovely."

Alistair beamed, "I'm glad you think so!"

"How long had you been holding on to that name?"

"Long enough." Alistair got to his feet. Flexing his fingers, he gently removed their son from Roselyn's shoulder, cradling him in one arm while arranging the blankets in his cradle. The infant complained at being moved, little hands curling up tightly and his face scrunching, but did not wake. After placing the infant in his cradle with deliberate care - Alistair still felt as though he was clumsy with them; they were so small and delicate after all and his hands felt too big and cumbersome at times - he checked on their daughter where she slept. Her hair was darker than their son’s and thicker too. Alistair thought she took more after Roselyn in facial features than himself, though Roselyn disagreed. "I named her," Alistair glanced over at Roselyn who was leaning forward in her seat to peer into their daughter's cradle. "If you're in agreement with Olivia?"

"I am."

"Then I think you should choose our son's name."

"Even if I pick something terrible that makes you wince every time you say it?" Roselyn teased, smirking up from her chair. "Something, dare I say, _Orlesian_?"

He crossed his arms, peering down at her, "You can live with the consequences and our son's complaints if you choose something truly horrific."

Laughing, Roselyn stood and moved to Alistair's side. She nestled close to him and he wound an arm around her waist, bringing her closer still. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her hair filling his head. Sometimes he just wanted to drown in the smell of her. "Hmm..." she hummed, looking down into the cradles. Her nose wrinkled in thought.

"You don't have to decide right away."

"No, no. I think I have one," Roselyn considered a few more seconds. "Yes. What do you think of Edward? I know it's a bit traditional but I think it's a good name. A strong name."

Alistair tilted his head to one side. Edward. Their son didn't _look_ like an Edward. Then again, he didn't look much like an anything yet. Just soft and pink and precious. Alistair doubted he looked like an Alistair when he was born. And Roselyn once told him the only reason for her name was so she would be the only rose to bloom in Highever. "Edward," Alistair tried it, considering the way it sounded in his own voice. Roselyn watched him, waiting expectantly for a reply. "Well, it's not what _I_ would have chosen," he said, rolling his eyes in an overly dramatic fashion.

"Oh, hush." Roselyn went to elbow him but Alistair grabbed her and pulled her tighter into his embrace so she was unable to move. She wriggled in a half-hearted attempt to get free, ceasing her efforts when Alistair planted a kiss on her forehead. "We can try something more whimsical with our next boy."

"Our next boy?" Alistair tilted a brow, "you're already thinking of more children?"

Roselyn gave a dainty shrug of her shoulders. "I'm not suggesting we have more right away. But..." her cheeks blossomed with colour and she ran her fingers along the wooden carvings on the cradle. "I see nothing wrong with keeping our options open."

"I'd like four..." mused Alistair, "Maybe five. Three girls and two boys."

"Your opinion on my choice of name please, Your Majesty?" Roselyn playfully nudged him in the side with her elbow.

"It _is_ traditional, but I like it. It suits him," he told her. "Olivia and Edward."

"Olivia and Edward," Roselyn repeated, sighing.

"Our children. Our Prince and Princess." Alistair murmured, peering down at the sleeping babies and feeling his whole body warm at the sight of them. "It still feels surreal sometimes. That they're here." He continued to feel a little awestruck whenever he looked at them or held them for any length of time. He helped make them. He was a father to two beautiful children and the vastness of the love he felt for them was still overwhelming. He would do everything he could to raise them to be kind, and to respect everyone no matter their station. He swore to them before they were born that they would never feel as though they were unloved, or unwanted. He intended to keep that vow. They would never feel the confusion and loneliness he did growing up. They would be only too aware of how much they were loved, and how wanted they were. He would reiterate it every single day if he had to, just to make them understand that they, with their mother, were the most precious things in his life. They were his reasons for living and he would love and cherish them until his last breath.

Roselyn gently stroked his arm. "Teagan will be over the moon they have names."

"Teagan doesn't matter right now," Alistair replied. He shifted enough to create a small gap between himself and Roselyn, curled his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head upwards. Roselyn kissed him, making him giddy and warm, the sensation of her lips on his sending pleasant tingles down his arms and his spine. He trailed his fingers down her sides at a slow pace brushing a spot on her waist he knew was ticklish. She wriggled and laughter bubbled up in her chest, spilling out of her mouth as she tried to hold it back. Grinning, Alistair hooked one arm behind her back and swept her legs out from under her, dangling them over his arm.

"Alistair!" Roselyn giggled.

"Shh!" They both looked towards the children, still sleeping and undisturbed. "Should we return to bed, wife?"

Roselyn wrapped her arms around his neck, "That seems an excellent idea, husband." She kicked her bare feet, giddy as a foal in spring, clinging to him as he walked the small distance through the nursery to their room. He nudged the nursery door until it was ajar and lay Roselyn out over the covers of their bed. She greeted every kiss he gave with feverish enthusiasm, fingers pushing through his hair and pressing into the muscles of his back as he clambered onto the bed and knelt above her.

"You know I can't..." Roselyn murmured between kisses, "I'm still very sore."

"I know." Alistair pulled away and brushed his fingertips over her cheek and the swell of her bottom lip. "I don't mind. I just... want to stay like this with you." He laughed at just how maudlin he sounded, but it was the truth. He would happily stay in bed with Roselyn if he could, simply relishing in being near her, in being able to touch and examine every inch of her.

Bringing a moment's pause to the familiar intimacy building between them, he stared down at her marvelling at the way the slivers of light breaking through the drapes illuminated her so perfectly. His chest ached with the adoration welling up inside him. Roselyn puckered her lips against his fingertips, cheeks slightly more flushed than before and her lips pinker. Her grey eyes were shining with the same brightness they held when they first met.

"What?" she questioned, smiling with uncertainty.

"Nothing," Alistair chuckled, "just looking at you. Remembering how much I love you."

"Oh." Her cheeks darkened a little. "Well, it's a good thing I love you, too, isn't it?"

"I think so." Alistair smiled. She lifted her head to kiss him, nipping at his bottom lip in a way which was both distracting and alluring. "Roselyn?" Alistair mumbled her name through the kiss.

"Mhm?"

"Are you happy?"

His chest grew unbearably tight as he asked the question. He wanted to take it back as soon as the words left him. It was foolish. An inane thing to ask. Roselyn would laugh at him for sure. Even now he was certain one day she would realise she was married to a fool. She angled her head away to look at him more clearly. Her eyes searched his face as if trying to understand why he asked the question. He smiled awkwardly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

Slowly, Roselyn's left hand came to run through his hair, her fingers tracing the familiar trail around his ear. She cupped his cheek and kissed him again in a way that left him almost breathless. "Yes. Deliriously happy" she told him, lips lingering against his. "And you, Alistair? Are you happy?"

He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. Without hesitation he answered, "Yes."

-fin-

* * *

 

Gorgeous final chapter art work provided by nazgallow on Etsy

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it.
> 
> I hope, very much, that you've enjoyed this story. It's been a real labor of love and I'm happy to see it finally completed. This isn't the end for Alistair and Roselyn, of course. They still exist and I'm sure I'll revisit the "Behind the Throne" universe for prompts and drabbles. And of course, I can write for them in the normal Dragon Age setting.
> 
> I have a few little thank yous I want to put here, but I won't take up too much of your time.
> 
> \- First, although I've said thank you to them in pretty much every chapter since the beginning, I owe bluvixen and razerathane (on tumblr) both a huge debt of gratitude. The two of them have helped me become a better writer, and have been instrumental in seeing this fic to completion. I owe them both, so much. So thank you to them for being amazing beta readers, and for helping me with blocks, and letting me bounce ideas off of them.
> 
> \- Thank you to every person who provided art, whether I commissioned it, or it was given as a gift. I cannot express enough how grateful I am for every single piece of art. That something I've written inspired you to sit down and use your valuable time to create something for me, is astounding and I love you for it. Thank you.
> 
> \- To the regular readers and commenters, you guys have no idea what an impact you have on writers. You are often the reason writers continue to write and continue to upload. Having reponses, having regular readers and interacting with you though this medium is an amazing thing. I am immensely grateful to every single person who sat down and read through each chapter, and left their thoughts for me to read at the end of it. You are amazing, and you deserve to be recognised for your quiet encouragement.
> 
> \- To anyone who has stopped by and read this fic, or left kudos. Just thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to check out this jaunt into fantasy. 
> 
> So, here we are at the end. I will be uploading new stuff, eventually. But I think I might have a small break for a bit. Maybe go back and edit some old things to upload here.  
> Again, and for the final time, thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and join me in this story. I hope you enjoyed it, the highs, the lows and everything in between.
> 
> Please, tell me what you think of this final installment in this comments, and thank you again from the bottom of my heart.


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